


All the Wild Horses

by Marora_Daris



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, hypersexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7440301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marora_Daris/pseuds/Marora_Daris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He wishes he could leave his past behind him but then he'd have nothing. So when the doorbell rings, he gets out of bed to open the door even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He makes sure to lock his bedroom door behind him.</i>
</p><p>or</p><p>Louis' carefully cultivated private life - which allows him to indulge his sexual addiction - is disrupted when Harry arrives needing a place to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Wild Horses

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my beta [notthefirsttimeeh](http://notthefirsttimeeh.tumblr.com/) for valuable advice and lovely feedback. Thank you to my britpicker [ironiclime](http://ironiclime.tumblr.com/) as well.
> 
> This fic deals with sensitive subjects so please be careful. **Warnings** include past child sexual abuse, hypersexuality as a reaction to the abuse, Louis/OMC sex scenes, unsafe sex, depression and anxiety, suicidal thoughts, a dream in which a character attempts suicide, character being triggered. Let me know if there's anything I missed. Some scenes are pretty graphic because, for me, when dealing with a topic such as abuse, the right way to describe it is the raw honest way that carries across just how ugly it is to go through. Overall, though, it is a story of recovery, so don't be discouraged by the open ending. Also, Harry is 17 and Louis is 22. Louis' mother is married to Harry's father so they are referred to as brothers at some point, but they are not actually related.
> 
> The beginning is inspired by the movie Shame. The title comes from a song by Ray LaMontagne.

_"You try so hard to dull the pain and the shame that after a while, the only thing strong enough to get through the haze is the pain you're trying to anesthetize in the first place.”_  
  


  
I.  
_excess, n. - an amount or quantity beyond what is normal or sufficient_  
  
  
He wishes he could leave his past behind him but then he'd have nothing. So when the doorbell rings, he gets out of bed to open the door even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He makes sure to lock his bedroom door behind him.  
  
He barely has a chance to blink before he's got an armful of Harry Styles.  
  
He's forgotten how tactile the boy is. He might have relished it once but it's stealing the air out of his lungs now. He thinks he's been short of breath ever since he got the call two weeks ago.  
  
Harry was excited to inform him that he'd landed his dream summer job in London, only a touch nervous to ask for a big favour. And Louis said yes because of this foolish sentiment that it was something he owed to a part of himself he'd somehow lost in the past year. Living alone has chipped away at his sanity in a way he couldn't have predicted. Now it's the thought of sharing his space that makes dread coil in his stomach.  
  
"Lou," Harry sighs into his shoulder with a smile, "it's been too long." He's taller than Louis now and his voice is deeper than he remembers, deeper even than it sounded over the phone. But he still talks just as slowly and it flicks at a string of Louis' heart he's forgotten is there.  
  
"Missed you," he replies because it's the only thing he can think of and he hopes he's only imagining the flatness of his voice. Too often it feels like he's only pretending to be human at all. Too often he has to remind himself what he's supposed to act like. He should be better at it, having been into theatre in his teenage years. This is different, though. Time spent in a role doesn't make it any easier or more familiar. If anything, it gets harder, every moment an added weight to his tired shoulders.  
  
When he pulls away, Harry's smile is bright and so obviously genuine and that's the most foreign thing about all of this. If he notices how tight Louis' own smile is, he doesn't let on.  
  
While Harry's taking a shower, Louis slips into the bedroom, relieved to have at least a couple of minutes to himself. The room smells like cum, the bed is unmade and perched at the bottom of it is his laptop. He settles under the still warm covers and drags the laptop closer.  
  
When he types in the password, he's met with a paused porn video. He opens a new tab. He's in a hurry and needs something filthier.  
  
He remembers to stifle his moan into a pillow when he comes under the practiced touch of his own hand. He breathes deeply as the tension in his muscles unravels. He can hear Harry already shuffling around the flat so he makes quick work of cleaning up. For a moment he imagines the boy catching him with cum smeared across his abs and the thought is almost tempting but he doesn't let himself linger on it.  
  
Sated for the time being, he finds himself joining Harry on the couch. Two cups of tea are steaming on the coffee table.  
  
"Is that a tattoo?"  
  
Harry grins and holds out his right hand to give him a better look at the cross inked in his skin. "Got it a couple of months ago."  
  
Louis wants to press his fingertips into it, try to rub the colour off. He doesn't.  
  
"Growing up, aren't you?" It's easier to breathe now, easier to talk.  
  
"Don't patronize me." His smile is cheeky. "You and I both know I'm more mature than you'll ever be."  
  
Louis doesn't protest. He knows Harry does exceed him in many areas. He's more mature, smart, stable, charming. He could envy him. He doesn't; not because he knows how messy Harry's own life must be, but because there's a disarming air of innocence around him that makes him impossible to resent.  
  
His hair's gotten longer, Louis notices, the curls less prominent. The ends of it are damp where they rest on his shoulders. He's changed into a sweater and is holding the cup with both hands to warm them.  
  
"Jay misses you." The words cut the silence abruptly.  
  
"Let's not go there." His tone isn't as sharp as it could be but it's firm enough. Harry changes the subject and doesn't otherwise react.  
  
He shares his excitement about being in London, talks about his dreams, random things that have happened since the last time they spoke. It's unusual for him to talk so much, Louis knows. It's unusual for Louis to be the quiet one.  
  
He stops listening to the words after a while and lets the quiet rumble of his voice lull him.  
  
Nevertheless, he sleeps as restlessly as usual. He logs into Literotica around 3am and gets off with a man twice his age.  
  
***  
  
Harry is still asleep on the pull-out couch while Louis is getting ready for work in the morning. He's huddled under three blankets and snoring lightly. Louis watches him while he sips his tea.  
  
He wanks in the shower and by the time he's done he's running late.  
  
The office is as loud as ever when he arrives. They're going into print this week and it has everyone on edge. He takes his seat without a word and turns on his computer.  
  
When Hannah gets him an espresso he wonders what she would look like bent over his desk. If her moans would be soft and high or if she would bite her lip to keep quiet. If she would resist him when he held her down.  
  
His article is still largely unfinished by noon. Not having properly seen a match in months, he has to Google everything to bullshit his way through his job in between regular breaks to open an incognito window.  
  
He types in a tiring, monotone rhythm, spurred on by the caffeine thrumming in his veins. The words are empty, the humour joyless and the logistics flawed. It's as pointless as his existence.  
  
He looks at his phone after it buzzes for the third time. He hasn't been getting much of that lately. People tend to give up after one unanswered call too many.  
  
All three of the texts are from Harry. ' _Busy?'_ , ' _What's the address?'_ and ' _I'm bringing you lunch'_.  
  
True to his word, Harry shows up half an hour later clad in tight jeans and a white t-shirt that shows off his collarbones and clings to his firm muscles. He perches at the edge of Louis' desk and drops a paper bag on it.  
  
"Been going to the gym?" Louis asks without thinking. He's going through the motions of casual banter, a shadow of his past self.  
  
"I do yoga," Harry winks.  
  
Louis is in the middle of imagining him in the downward dog pose when Nick saunters over.  
  
"It's that time of the month, Tomlinson, when I need you to stop fucking around." When Louis says nothing, he drops the pretense. "Who's this then?"  
  
"Harry, his brother." Harry's smile is polite as he offers a handshake.  
  
"My stepfather's son," Louis corrects.  
  
"Oh, are we making that distinction now?"  
  
"Nick is the editor," Louis deflects the comment. "Also seems to be under the impression that we're friends of a sort."  
  
Nick stops checking Harry out with raised eyebrows for long enough to reply. "Also your boss so watch your mouth."  
  
"Thought you hired me for my mouth."  
  
"That I did." It's only now that he properly looks at Louis, a smirk on his lips.  
  
It's what Nick told him when Louis inquired once about the reasoning behind his employement. Louis still isn't sure if Nick was referring to the blowjob Louis gave him in the bathroom stall when they met in the bar or the way he talked shit about WSC while Nick was returning the favor. Either way, "I want you to work for me" was what he said after swallowing Louis' cum.  
  
Louis sees Harry glancing curiously between them in his periphery.  
  
"How about you, Baby Tomlinson? Are you any good with your mouth?" Nick leans closer to Harry.  
  
Harry laughs and his body language is too open and confident for Louis' liking. "I'm an aspiring singer so I guess you could say so."  
  
"Oh?" Nick beams. "I'd love to hear you sing."  
  
"Got a gig tomorrow tonight, actually. At Bel Canto." He turns to Louis. "You're coming, right?"  
  
"We're both coming," Nick answers for him. "I'll pick you both up at...?"  
  
"Seven," Harry supplies.  
  
"It's a deal. See you later, Baby Tomlinson."  
  
"Don't call him that," Louis snaps and Harry's grin fades but Nick merely laughs it off.  
  
***  
  
It's a Tuesday so he heads to Vault 139 after work.  
  
The music is loud enough he can feel the beat vibrate through his body. He scans the crowd with a drink in hand. It's not long before he catches the eye of a shirtless lad around his age standing by the bar. It's a tempting body and the lost look on his face despite the display of confidence in the outfit choice seals the deal. Louis drags him to a private booth.  
  
He has him on knees, eagerly taking Louis' cock in his mouth. It's pleasurable but not satisfying, not getting him anywhere. He yanks his head back by the hair. "Get on your hands and knees."  
  
"Oh, I thought you would bottom-"  
  
"I said, hands and knees."  
  
"Hey, I'm not into that dom/sub shit-"  
  
"If you think that's what this is, you've seen nothing. Now stop wasting my time." Louis wraps a hand around his own cock. "You want it or not?"  
  
"Yeah," he breathes and licks his lips. "Yeah, okay."  
  
There isn't much prep before Louis' pounding into him relentlessly. He listens to the slapping of skin against skin. It's like a beat that's been stuck in his head for months. A rhythm he breathes, talks, walks, lives to, his every action like the ticking of a clock, or a bomb.  
  
There are grunts of pleasure and pain and he can't differentiate them anymore. He knows he's not making it good for the lad. He doesn't give, just takes; and what he takes isn't enough. He much prefers to take them home with him, go at it for hours but properly, getting lost in it. This is clinical, an empty routine, a futile attempt to get the poison out. Too rough to be casual, not raw enough to be substantial.  
  
What he's craving is a scene, but it's unpredictable what state it might get him into

and he has Harry to come home to now. The reminder agitates him further.  
  
He grips him harder and leans down to bite his shoulder. He's suprised when the lad arches his back and turns his head to bite back. It's a taste of what he needs.  
  
***  
  
He stumbles into his flat around 1am. He isn't as drunk as he is worn out. He almost trips over Harry's suitcase that's still lying on the floor unpacked. He smells like smoke, alcohol and someone else's sweat. He's toeing off his shoes when a voice startles him.  
  
"You're back." Harry's standing in the doorway of the living room with arms crossed over his chest. "You weren't answering your phone. I was worried."  
  
Louis squeezes his eyes shut when light fills the hallway. When he adjusts to the sudden brightness he sees Harry staring at his neck. His lips are pursed, his eyebrows furrowed. Louis feels small under his steady gaze. Dirty and shameful. Unworthy.  
  
"I'm going to bed," he mumbles. He can feel Harry's eyes burning into him as he fiddles with the key.  
  
"Why do you keep it locked?" Louis flinches at the heaviness of his tone. There's no reproach in it, no accusation; just sadness. "You don't trust me?"  
  
He slams the door behind him and barely hears the sound over the pounding of his heart.  
  
***  
  
The thought of leaving his room makes him anxious enough that he seriously considers staying in bed all day instead of going to work. Nick would have his head and if he kept it up he'd fire him. He'd be fucked then, with no way to pay his rent and nowhere else to go. He feels a scary indifference at the prospect. He dropped out of uni a year ago in the same fashion. Nick saved his arse then. Louis doesn't suppose he'd be as lucky this time around.  
  
He hopes Harry is sleeping when he dares to leave his sanctuary. He stops in his tracks when he hears his voice coming from the living room.  
  
"No, Phoebs, don't say that."  
  
Louis' heart clenches when he realizes who he's on the phone with.  
  
"He misses you, too. He's just really busy."  
  
He wants to walk away, wants to save himself from hearing more, but he's frozen.  
  
"Of course I'm coming back, silly." Harry shows more warmth in a sentence than Louis could manage in a lifetime.  
  
He exhales shakily after Harry hangs up. He runs into him in the kitchen when he goes to fix himself tea. He almost forgoes the ritual in favor of avoiding him but he thinks Harry's done enough to throw him off balance as it is.  
  
He keeps his head down as he waits for the water to boil. Harry studies him carefully and wordlessly, sitting on the counter in briefs only.  
  
"Put some fucking clothes on."  
  
He turns away before he can see the reaction on Harry's face.  
  
***  
  
He keeps his face straight as he scrolls through a porn site in a full office. The chatter of voices fades away as he focuses on a livecam he's chosen.  
  
It's a twink probably around Harry's age, though he tries not to think about that. He wishes he could hear the sounds he makes as he bounces on a dildo. Louis' cock doesn't harden until the boy looks directly at the camera and speaks, slowly enough that Louis can read the words off his lips. "I want you to use me."  
  
He pays for a blowjob in a carpark on his way home. He's in oblivion as he chases that high, fucking the guy's mouth and making him gag where anyone could see. He wants to take him back to his place, wants to keep him in his bedroom till morning and do everything to him, over and over again, no matter how much it costs. He can't, and at first it's like an itch he can't scratch but then it feels like a noose around his neck.  
  
He's digging his nails into his palms as he enters the flat. He's greeted by the unmistakable sound of vomiting.  
  
He steps into the bathroom hesitantly. Harry's on his knees by the toilet, facing away from him and shaking violently. Louis' anger doesn't disappear but it retreats away from the surface.  
  
He lowers himself on the tiled floor beside him and gently moves his hair out of his face. It's soft, makes him recall how much Harry loved it when Louis used to play with it.  
  
"Nervous?" he asks because he remembers.  
  
Harry nods weakly and leans into him. He's warm and sweaty and looks so young.  
  
"I'm sure it'll be fine." Louis cringes at his own words.  
  
Harry sniffs and looks at him with watery green eyes. "Could you hold me?"  
  
Louis doesn't understand how asking the question doesn't terrify him countless times more than the upcoming performance. To him it's as absurd and dangerous as literally clawing his heart out and offering it on the palm of his hand.  
  
His movements are jerky and unnatural when he wraps his arms around him, but when Harry settles against his chest, muscle memory takes over and he strokes his back with a gentleness he didn't know he still possessed. He feels Harry relax into him though he's still shaking with uneven breaths.  
  
"Do you need your inhaler?"  
  
Harry shakes his head and hides his face into Louis' neck, wetting his skin with tears.  
  
"Tell me about your day, yeah?" He knows there are no words of encouragement he could come up with that would be of use. This is the way they used to do it, with Louis offering distraction as means of comfort.  
  
Harry's voice is hoarse as he struggles to focus. "I went to the London Eye... snapped some pretty decent panoramic shots." He pauses, his hand coming to rest on Louis' thigh. He feels burnt but doesn't move. "Wish you had come with me."  
  
There's nothing he can say. He leans against the wall and tries to pretend he's somewhere else even as he inhales Harry's scent and feels his warmth seeping through their clothes.  
  
"Photography's become a bit of a hobby," Harry continues. "Lottie teases me about it, says I'm a hipster."  
  
A fond smile curves his lips until he notices Louis tensing up beneath him.  
  
"You-" He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "I should start getting ready. Thank you for..." He trails off, getting up and away from Louis too abruptly.  
  
They're Harry's family now more than they are his, Louis realizes. He clears his throat and gets off the floor as well, suddenly cold all over.  
  
"It's nothing." He can't wait to get into the shower to wash Harry's fingerprints off his skin and dull the ache of the scars he's torn.  
  
***  
  
It's like being on a date with Nick, ordering from a French menu under the crystal chandelier with candles flickering atop the silk tablecloth. The waiter's posture is impeccable as he pours them rich smelling wine. Louis wants to drown himself in it.  
  
He gets his phone out shamelessly and flips Nick off in response to his pointed cough.  
  
The piano is humming softly in the background.  
  
He receives several direct messages upon logging into a chatroom, the first one saying ' _wanna play'_. ' _Show me what a slut you are_ ,' he types back. There are thirty seconds of nothing and then ' _pervert'_ flashes across the screen. He puts the phone down without looking at the rest.  
  
Harry introduces himself with a bright smile when he climbs on the small stage and takes his place behind the microphone stand beside the piano. He's elegant in an all black outfit complete with a skinny patterned scarf.  
  
"It's an honour to be entertaining you tonight. I hope you have a lovely evening." All traces of earlier anxiety are gone except for the endearing blush on his cheeks.  
  
The redhead behind the piano opens the song with a haunting tune. It gives Louis goosebumps when Harry's raspy baritone joins in, the seductive drawl reminding him of smoky jazz bars.  
  
" _Slow, love, slow_ " he sings, carrying the chorus into higher notes. His face reflects the change of mood, the deep etched longing. He's a beauty fragile under the weight of a lifetime sadness.  
  
If he were religious, Louis would say it's like standing in front of the altar, to feel his own unworthiness so achingly in the face of glory.  
  
" _Do I love you..._ " Harry's eyes find him. " _...or the thought of you._ "  
  
He can feel the vibration of his voice in his bones. It rattles his insides until all the clumsily sewn stitches break loose and he bleeds.  
  
He drops his head as tears prick his eyes, desperate to hide even as Harry pours his own heart out for everyone to see.  
  
"I think I'm in love," Nick declares when Harry joins them at the table after finishing his set.  
  
He's glowing, eyes shining with excitement and dimples caving his cheeks.  
  
"How old are you, Baby Tomlinson?" Louis knows the look in Nick's eyes.  
  
"Seventeen," Harry replies with a mischevious smirk of his own.  
  
"A shame."  
  
He laughs in response and turns to Louis expectantly. "Did you like it?"  
  
Louis can only nod, throat too tight to form words. The faltering of Harry's smile twists the knife further.  
  
***  
  
He dreams for the first time in a long time. He dreams of green eyes and angels singing, but the image twists and dissolves until it's him spitting out two handfuls of teeth on the doorstep of his childhood home.  
  
***  
  
He's supposed to be at work but he's sweaty and flushed, riding a thick vibrator, his muscles sore and throat raw. Harry's away, somewhere, seizing the day and whatnot.  
  
There are tears of overstimulation in his eyes when he comes. He still doesn't want to stop.  
  
He drags himself to work hours too late and makes a flimsy excuse to Nick. He overdoses on coffee and works on the article long after everyone else leaves. His eyes sting, his back is stiff and his stomach empty.  
  
When he's done he doesn't seek out the comfort of his bed but the darkness of a pub and strangers' hands.  
  
There's cold dinner on the kitchen table when he gets home. A hoodie that isn't his is draped over the back of the couch, a leather bound notebook lies on the coffee table and a gift bag hangs from the door handle. Even when Harry isn't there, his marks remain; a constant reminder that Louis' life isn't his own anymore.  
  
Harry seems surprised to find him there when he gets back. He halts in the doorway, the smile he was sporting fading into a careful expression.  
  
"Where were you?" Louis' tone is clipped, making Harry shy away like a scolded child. "Your gig ended hours ago."  
  
"I went for a pint with Ed, the pianist." He bites his lip, keeps his eyes on Louis who's leaning against the window with a cigarette in hand.  
  
"You're not here to fool around."  
  
His eyes widen. "No, that's not- It's not like that."  
  
Louis knows it isn't. It doesn't matter when there's so much anger burning in his lungs, forcing the words out. He takes another drag of the cigarette.  
  
"I just wanted to talk to someone." Harry threads into the room, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know anyone here and you keep pushing me away and I'm just... I'm alone all the time."  
  
"It's not enough that I let you live here? I'm supposed to entertain you as well?"  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"I'm fucking busy, alright? Some of us have real jobs and bills to pay."  
  
Harry recoils like he's been slapped. "I'm a burden to you, is that what you're saying?"  
  
"Of course you're a fucking burden. You come into my home and make me feel trapped. You can't even clean up after yourself."  
  
Harry lowers himself on the couch like his legs are giving out, stares at the notebook on the table like it's the only thing he can bear looking at. "When I got here," he starts in a small quiet voice, "I was surprised that the place wasn't messy, thought it was unlike you. But then I realized that it's not really tidy, just empty."  
  
The cigarette is burnt to the filter, too warm between Louis' fingers. The smoke lingers. The silence is heavy and cutting, reminds Louis of the ones between his mother and Mark in the last couple of months of their marriage.  
  
When Harry speaks again, he looks him in the eye. "This isn't you, Louis. Where have you gone?"  
  
When he's only met with more silence, he continues. "You haven't asked about your sisters once. When was the last time you talked to any of them? Your mother? The Louis I know would do anything for them. You don't even care."  
  
"I've given them all I have. There's nothing left." He flicks the cigarette stub out of the window and strides out of the room.  
  
***  
  
Harry practises and scribbles in his notebook, explores the city and meets new people, tries out recipes and catches up with family and friends on the phone every day. He gets himself a headscarf and looks ridiculously proud whenever he wears it. He sings every night, at the same place and mostly the same songs, but he's vibrating with excitement each time nevertheless. He's everywhere at once, so bright and alive, radiating. Louis tries not to see, tries not to hear snippets of conversations or notes echoing off the bathroom walls, but it's inescapable.  
  
He's spent so long in careful isolation, treasuring his privacy. It's helped forget the life he once dreamt of, made him blind to the abnormalities of the one he leads now.  
  
Harry is not only a disturbance, but a reminder of the unwanted truth. Louis wants him gone so desperately and still he can't evade the guilt he feels whenever he looks into his eyes and sees the hurt he's inflicted.  
  
In the end it's always himself he hates the most.  
  
***  
  
There's a knock on the door followed by a muffled tentative voice. "Lunch is ready."  
  
The weekends are the worst because Louis can't make himself get out of bed and for an unfathomable reason Harry seems determined to stick around for a chance to spend time with him.  
  
"I'm not hungry." He's huddled under the too warm blanket sticky with cum, staring at the blank wall. It's like looking into a mirror.  
  
"When was the last time you ate? Louis, please."  
  
He takes a shower first, long enough for the water to run cold and make him shiver. While he's drying off he keeps his head down to avoid seeing his reflection in the mirror and notices that the laundry basket is curiously empty. Harry seems to have taken up all the housework Louis neglects. It's unnerving.  
  
He picks at the pasta wordlessly, the silence disturbed only by the clanking of the fork against the plate. Harry's unwavering stare makes his skin crawl.  
  
"Is it alright?"  
  
Louis nods. "You don't have to do this."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
The tension is palpable, a stark contrast to the easy friendship they used to have. He's acutely aware of Harry's disappointment in the person he's become.  
  
"It's a nice day outside. Think we could go for a walk or something?"  
  
Louis wants to ask him why he still tries. "You go ahead," he says instead. "I have some work to do."  
  
Harry does leave in an hour, albeit reluctantly. It makes Louis sag in relief, sliding down on the floor with heavy limbs.  
  
When he palms his cock it's a feeble distraction from the suffocating anxiety. He recalls the night before Harry's arrival; the thrilling sense of power in flogging someone, the rush of hearing him beg for mercy, making him declare himself Louis' property even as the wedding band on his finger glinted in the moonlight that crept through the blinds. "Please don't," he cried, making Louis thrum with exhiliration, and came screaming when Louis called him a faggot while fucking him ruthlessly.  
  
He craves the control, the unleashing of cruelty, but he's so drained he doesn't think he has it in him to even get off the floor. It's fucking pathetic.  
  
He makes a phone call. The rest is a haze.  
  
His hands are tied behind his back making his muscles and the skin of his wrists sore. He doesn't fight against the restraints, lets himself float away instead.  
  
Hands and lips glide over his skin, sensual touches mixing with sharp teeth and stinging slaps. All he can do is take what he gets. It's a dark twisted kind of arousal that encompasses his awareness, making him weightless under the nameless faceless stranger even as his stomach turns at the stirring memories.  
  
He's loud, the pleasure and pain of being stretched open overwhelming. The world ceases to exist and all that remains are the building sensations.  
  
The thrusts push him higher up the bed and a hand closes around his throat to keep him grounded, the grip tightening until he can't breathe. His thoughts reduce to 'yes' and 'more'. He's dizzy by the time air fills his lungs again, ears ringing with the pounding of his heart.  
  
"Good boy."  
  
He digs his nails into his palms at the praise. It's sickeningly familiar, a poison he laps up.  
  
Fingers force their way into his mouth, teasing his throat and making him gag. The pillow under his head is wet with saliva. Sweat coats his skin, lube drips down his thighs and his cock leaks where it's trapped against the sheets, but the tongue drawing patterns on his neck makes him feel dirty the most.  
  
It's the words that get to him, commands whispered in his ear in between grunts that make his blood run cold with echoes of distant recollections.  
  
"Say it." It's persistant, growingly impatient. The slap makes his skin burn.  
  
His lips move but he can't tell if the sound comes out. He complies, over and over again, breathes out the nauseating lines just to prove to himself that he can.  
  
The walls are closing in on him, the weight of the body on top of him crushing him. He doesn't let himself back away even as he crumbles, doesn't let himself be weak.  
  
"You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you?"  
  
He would. He needs to know that his body is his to give away, except for how it really, really isn't. He shakes all over.  
  
There are bone deep imprints under his skin. He wants to carve them out with a knife, replace the old scars with new ones if he must; anything to have them gone.  
  
"I'm your filthy whore," he repeats panting. "That's all I am."  
  
He chases his demons rather than letting them chase him. It doesn't make much of a difference in the end.  
  
He's alone, lying apathetically amidst soiled sheets with cum drying on his face, when he hears Harry come back and remembers that the bedroom door is open. He doesn't move.  
  
There are wide green eyes and pale cheeks, plump lips parting in shock. There's speechless suspension, an aborted attempt at a hasty escape and a step forward. There are words that take too long to reach him and receive nothing in response. It's like threading deep water, trying to string his thoughts into something coherent.  
  
Concern twists Harry's features. He gets too close and sees too much and Louis feels nothing at all.  
  
He doesn't resist when Harry guides him into the shower. He closes his bleary eyes as he listens to the steady flow of the water and feels the warm spray cascade down his body, washing away all but what matters. He barely registers Harry's presence, the way he manuevers him with gentle touches, massages tender limbs.  
  
He gets wrapped up into one of Harry's fluffy bathrobes that's too big on him and led to the living room, shaky and shivering, with Harry supporting his weight. He watches from far away, feels like the Earth has tipped further on its axis.  
  
Everything is still and quiet, inside him and around him. He curls up on the couch, tucked in. The pillow smells like Harry and the blankets are soft and warm against his skin, enveloping him. A hand runs through his hair in soothing circles. He drifts off.  
  
***  
  
It's like the screeching of tires, the split second in which you're aware of the impending doom but you're powerless to stop it, playing on a loop in his head.  
  
He makes no effort to announce that he's awake, stays hidden under the heavy bundle of blankets and stares at the little flower pot by the window he hadn't noticed before.  
  
There's a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table, a slice of bread, honey and butter; his favorite kind of breakfast when he was a child. It's all so wrong.  
  
He hears Harry moving around, going in and out of the bedroom, cleaning up. A few days ago Louis would have told him off for stepping in there, would have smashed the damn flower pot. He becomes less of himself by the second, he thinks. He wonders if he's going to disappear completely.  
  
His body aches in a way he should find pleasant. He visualizes a razor drawing blood, figures that must hurt better.  
  
He's not surprised when Harry asks how he's feeling and intrudes his personal space. He flinches at the contact but he's still too spent to be anything less than pliant when Harry's hand finds a way into his hair again.  
  
It's not how it's supposed to be.  
  
"I'm fine." It's a well practiced line but comes out strained.  
  
Harry fixes his bright piercing eyes on him, doesn't stop the movement of his hand. He inches closer and Louis gets the impression that he wants to hold him. He's thankful he doesn't attempt it.  
  
"What happened yesterday?" The words come out slowly, quietly, like Louis is a wild animal he's trying not to startle.  
  
"Just a regular day off."  
  
Harry watches him in silence for a long time and just when Louis is about to get up and leave, he speaks. "You're not fine. You haven't been fine for a while now, have you?"  
  
"It's none of your business." This time he does get up, but Harry's hand curls around his wrist and doesn't let go.  
  
"If you'd just-"  
  
"Shut up before I kick you out."  
  
He pries Harry's fingers open to free his wrist and walks over to the armchair where Harry's left him a pile of clean clothes.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere." Louis pretends not to hear as he puts the trousers on, facing away from him. "If I leave I'll never hear from you again."  
  
"Wouldn't that be a shame," he spits out under his breath in biting sarcasm. He's screaming on the inside, clawing at his flesh.  
  
"You- you've been my favourite person in the world since the day we met." Louis hears the tears in the shaking of his voice. "I won't give up on you, I can't."  
  
"Only because you're terrified of loss." It's cruel but he keeps his tone nonchalant and calmly buttons up the shirt, even as he pushes away the memories of Harry crawling into his bed at night and crying about missing his mother. "It would serve you well to get used to it."  
  
"You have no right to say that."  
  
It's the first time Harry's stood up to him and that makes it clear he's crossed the line. He's taken aback enough to turn around and look at him. Harry's eyes are shining with tears he doesn't attempt to conceal, staring at him defiantly.  
  
"But I'm not going to hold it against you," he continues, "because you clearly don't know what you're doing right now."  
  
***  
  
The hightlight of Louis' week is the backroom of a club, riding a guy while another one presses against his back and jerks him off. He's properly pissed, skin tingling from being watched, touched by someone else while bouncing on a cock. He's told how pretty he looks, how obscene. The release has him trembling long after it's done.  
  
In the morning he can't even remember if they used protection.  
  
***  
  
The buzzing of his phone stirs him from fitful sleep. He narrows his eyes at the flashing screen, about to reject the call and switch the phone off but Harry's name makes him pause.  
  
"What?" he picks up. It's an instinct he can't fight off.  
  
"Hi, sorry. I'm in a cab, almost there. Could you come down? I, um... need you to pay the driver."  
  
"For fuck's sake."  
  
He hangs up, saving the berating for later, and gets up before he can question himself. He picks up a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from the floor, shakes them out as if that'll make them cleaner and pulls them on in a haste without flicking on the light. He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, slips into his Vans and dahes down the stairs, cursing when rain splatters him as soon as he steps out onto the sidewalk.  
  
"Thank you," Harry rushes to say as he climbs out of the cab, shivering in the cold.  
  
Louis hands the bills to the driver and promptly walks back inside without looking back. He hears Harry scurrying behind him, wet shoes squeaking on the tiled stairway.  
  
He rounds on him when they reach the flat. "Where the fuck were you?"  
  
Harry bites his lip as he watches the lock turn. "I'm sorry. Nick was supposed to give me a ride but he drank too much." He frowns, runs a hand through his damp curls.  
  
"Nick?" Louis' stomach turns.  
  
"Yeah, we went to a concert and then... Got a bit carried away, I guess."  
  
Louis huffs like it's the most ridiculous thing he's heard. He kicks off his shoes, letting them hit the wall. "So he decided to fuck you after all?"  
  
"Jesus Christ, Louis."  
  
"Tell me." He backs him against the wall, eyes wild with fury. "Did he touch you?"  
  
Something shifts in Harry's expression, the tight lines smoothing out, lips curving in challenge. "Why does it matter?"  
  
It's a good question.  
  
"You claim that you don't care about me," he continues. "What is it then?"  
  
Louis shakes his head, fists Harry's sheer black shirt, coaxing the raindrops into his palm. He won't fall for it, he won't.  
  
He sees it in the back of his mind, flashes of Nick undressing Harry, making him moan. He feels sick.  
  
"Don't play games with me." It comes out almost pleading. He'd take it back if it weren't for the softening of Harry's eyes.  
  
"Nothing happened," he relents. "I know better than that."  
  
Louis sighs in relief, backs away, but a hand grips his shoulder, pulls him closer still.  
  
"You do care." He says it without gloating, like he's known it all along. It's a small smile that graces his lips but it's the first one Harry's directed at him in a while. It feels a bit like a ray of sun in the midst of a long northern winter, or the nostalgia of summer nights that takes him to a hundred places at once, a hundred versions of himself he could never reconcile.  
  
He remembers the inflatable pool he had prepared for the girls in the backyard years ago, being pushed headfirst into the water when he wasn't looking. Joyous boyish laughter filled his ears when he resurfaced gasping for breath out of surprise more than anything else. He remembers the dimpled grin above him, the glinting green eyes and the clear blue sky in the background, the rippling water soothing his sunburnt skin, the laughter that bubbled out of him out of sheer realization that this was what happiness felt like. It seems like a lifetime ago.  
  
There's only a hint of hopefulness in those eyes now, and a bittersweet reminiscence, as if he knows what's going through Louis' mind, as if he's replaying the same memories.  
  
"Can we make this right? Please?" Louis doesn't need to ask what he means.  
  
He wants to tell him he has nothing to give. He wants to tell him this whole thing is bringing a complexity into his life that he has no desire of dealing with. He wants to hurt him because it's the easiest way to make him leave. He surrenders instead because he's as powerless before him as he's always been.  
  
He doesn't need to say a word before he's pulled into a hug.  
  
"It's just me," Harry whispers against his hair when his rigidness lingers, but he can't relax, doesn't know how to enjoy physical contact without making it sexual. He's too aware of Harry's wet toned body pressed against his, has to struggle to stay still and not flinch away, or worse, grind against him.  
  
He carefully disentangles himself from his grasp. "Go change out of those wet clothes, you'll catch a cold."  
  
He retreats to the bedroom, leaving Harry smiling for once.  
  
***  
  
His head is pounding when his alarm goes off. He turns the buzzer off and goes back to sleep.  
  
He's startled awake again when the door creaks open, making his heart palpitate. With the room dark behind the drawn blinds and his mind fuzzy with sleep, he's disoriented enough for one long panic-filled moment to think he's still in Doncaster, being woken up in the middle of the night by his stepfather.  
  
He remembers he forgot to lock the door when he sees Harry poking his head in.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"What?" He's still struggling to breathe evenly and stifle the rising backflashes.  
  
"You haven't gone to work. Are you sick or something?" Harry's frowning, lips almost pouted as if the mere thought of Louis being sick is enough to sadden him.  
  
"Oh. Just a headache."  
  
He kind of expects him to lecture him about having to go to work, despite the fact that Louis is the adult here.  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry says instead. "I'll get you some water."  
  
Louis' still pondering the way Harry's acting like him entering the bedroom was never even an issue when he gets back with a glass of water and a pill and sits on the edge of the bed.  
  
He notices how small his own hand is in comparison when he plucks the pill from Harry's palm. He keeps his eyes on Harry's hands as he swallows gulps of water.  
  
"What does it mean to you?" he asks looking at the black cross drawn below Harry's thumb.  
  
"This?" Harry runs a finger over the tattoo. Louis imagines how soft the skin would feel under his own fingertips if he dared touch it.  
  
Their eyes meet, making him realize how close they are and it feels painfully intimate to have Harry sitting on his bed like it's nothing, like he's not the first person that ever stepped in here for a purpose other than sex.  
  
He's forgotten the question by the time Harry replies.  
  
"It's a reminder... that there's a purpose to suffering, and beauty in everything, even in sorrow."  
  
"Poetic bullshit."  
  
Harry grins like Louis hasn't just insulted him. "My favourite kind of bullshit."  
  
Louis can't help but smile. It's been a long time since he last did it without a conscious effort. Harry smiles wider like he knows.  
  
"You're too nice for your own good," Louis tells him.  
  
Harry shrugs. "Only to those who deserve it."  
  
"I certainly don't."  
  
He shakes his head in disagreement. "I know you're only pretending to be mean."  
  
Louis doesn't know what to say so he stays quiet. He watches a strand of hair fall over Harry's face and resists the urge to tuck it behind his ear. His eyes are an endless green, looking down at him too openly.  
  
He thinks back to the last time Harry was in his room and almost cringes at the memory. It's a feeling he's come to associate with Harry, the sense of

being stripped bare before his eyes. Even now, just sitting in silence with the duvet wrapped tightly around his shoulders, it's like Harry's watchful gaze is picking him apart.  
  
It's a collision of two of his realities, of the life he's left behind and the current one which hadn't felt entirely real beforehand. There's a hint of shame somewhere deep within, a spectre of swirling emotions carefully tucked away under the thick coat of plaguing indifference.  
  
The thoughts weigh him down, make him itch for the relief of pleasure to cloud his mind. He lies back down intending for it to be a hint for Harry to leave. His mouth gets the better of him.  
  
"Does it work?" he asks. "The reminder."  
  
Harry's smile flickers and his eyes grow distant as he sighs. "Sometimes."  
  
He gets up nevertheless, stretches out. Louis watches his musles flex under the thin white tank top and hates himself for it. He wonders if he'll be doing yoga to relieve the backache. The sight would be worth getting out of bed for. There is beauty in everything, he said. Louis disagrees, but if there's beauty in anything, he thinks, it's in the boy before him.  
  
"I'll let you get some rest," he murmurs and leaves Louis alone in his purgatory.  
  
***  
  
A warm wet mouth is wrapped around his cock, a line of white powder on a pocket mirror laid out by the sink offering sweet oblivion, a loud electronic beat vibrating under his feet, and all he sees are green eyes. He longs to submerge in these sensations, to reduce his being to a single focal point of pleasure, but the thought of Harry anchors him.  
  
The entirety of his existence has been a haze for a while, days and months blending together, his time divided solely between mundane reality and opportunities to indulge in vices providing precious escape. Harry, though, he leaves a mark on moments, makes them stand out, sharp and colourful, leaping out of the sea of grey. Suddenly the simple measure of time in hours between orgasms is no longer valid, requires another variable, and each fragment of Louis' life is defined by Harry's presence.  
  
He makes his way home through streets too loud and too bright for this hour. His eyes are dropping, body tired and aching. He's too young to feel this old.  
  
He's welcomed by a mournful drawn-out melody. He follows the sound of Harry's voice; it draws him in like a bait.  
  
" _Love me, love me... say you do_ ," he sings. The reckless honesty of the line suits him well.  
  
A candle illuminates his features in a golden glow, casts flickering shadows along the walls. The air is heavy with the aromatic fragrance.  
  
He pauses when he notices Louis hovering in the doorway, red lips parted and uncertainty fracturing the faraway glassiness of his eyes.  
  
"Don't stop," Louis breathes, crosses the distance in stilted footsteps.  
  
He hears the inhale, watches the lips move and unwavering eyes settle on him. " _Let me fly away with you..._ " Hesitant chopped words melt until they flow like honey from Harry's throat again. " _We are creatures of the wind..._ "  
  
There are lightnings in his irises gravitating toward the black pits of the pupils that threaten to swallow Louis whole, the reflection of the entire universe in an unshed teardrop. " _...wild is the wind._ "  
  
Louis recognizes his own pain in the rise and fall of Harry's voice. It's why he'd decided he doesn't like music a long time ago; there's too much silence in it, too much space that allows the tendrils of his thoughts to slither into the crevices of his soul and dig out what was supposed to remain concealed from even his own view.  
  
" _Give me more than one caress... satisfy this hungriness._ "  
  
The vibrato sends a tremor through his bones.  
  
" _Like a leaf clings to a tree... baby, please, cling to me._ "  
  
He feels dirty, covered in remnants of the night out. Still, Harry gladly opens his arms for him when Louis sags against him.  
  
" _We are creatures of the wind..._ " The song quiets down to a whisper, a breath that grazes Louis' skin. " _...wild is the wind._ "  
  
The melancholic tune takes him back to shared nights in a refuge made of pillows. It's them against the world again.  
  
Harry's warm where he's holding him close, feels like flames licking his skin. Louis stays motionless and reasons to himself it's because it would take far too much energy to pull away. It's easier to let himself burn.  
  
" _You touch me... I hear the sound of mandolins..._ "  
  
The words are hypnotizing coming from Harry's lips that steer too close. Louis wants to touch him the only way he knows, claim him and taint his innocence. It's the only temptation he resists, the last piece of dignity he owns.  
  
" _And you kiss me... With your kiss my life begins._ " Harry finishes the song with a soft sigh and leans over to blow the candle, cloaking them in moonlit darkness.  
  
Louis stops breathing for a moment watching him lift his legs onto the couch and lie down, tugging him along. Dark curls spill over the pillow, tickle Louis' face.  
  
"Thought you didn't like my singing," Harry admits quietly.  
  
Louis shakes his head, overwhelmed. "It's... You're really good. Brilliant."  
  
He sees the contours of Harry's smile, feels him shift until he settles down against his chest, eyelashes brushing the exposed skin of his collarbones when Harry's eyes flutter closed.  
  
If he hears the frantic hammering of Louis' heart, he doesn't comment on it.  
  
***  
  
Harry starts talking about home in increments. He throws in little random facts in the midsts of stilted conversations, carefully but persistantly, and gives Louis an insight into parts of the girls' lives he's missed. All the while Louis pretends not to hear, though his heart jumps at every mention of one of his sisters and he tucks away the valuable pieces of information to cherish in the lone nights.  
  
It's a rainy day and they're sitting in a cafè across the street from the WSC offices when Harry gets a reaction out of him for the first time.  
  
"...and he's tagging along so I'll get to meet up with him tonight and catch up." Louis' listening distractedly while Harry fills the silence. He drums his fingers against the table, already regretting inviting Harry for a cup of coffee. It seemed like a good idea at the time, getting away from the office after the tense morning and also getting Harry away from Nick who immediately seized the opportunity to engage in banter with the boy when he came over during lunch break. It's a cozy little place as well, adorned with plush armchairs and floral patterned tables in soft pastel colours. Still, he'd sacrifice it for the benefit of being able to light up a cigarette.  
  
"The girls say they're jealous of Niall for being here," Harry continues making Louis tense up where he's staring at the rain streaked window. "Though they're on a trip of their own up north, visiting their grandfather."  
  
"Keith?" Louis cuts in sharply before he can stop himself.  
  
"Yeah." Harry smiles like he's glad for the interruption as he stirs his coffee in slow circles. "Mark's taking them there for the week."  
  
"Wh- I- I thought they weren't in touch anymore?" He tries to keep the panic out of his voice but fails if the raise of Harry's eyebrows is anything to judge by.  
  
"He's been trying to patch things up," he explains with a shrug, eyeing him curiously.  
  
Louis' stomach twists so violently that for a moment he thinks he's going to throw up in the middle of the cafè. He tries to breathe just so he can ask for reassurance. "Have you heard from them since they left? Are they all fine?"  
  
"Yeah, they're alright. Why wouldn't they be?"  
  
He doesn't realize he's biting his nails until Harry pries his hand away.  
  
"Louis? What's wrong?" He stares at him with intensity, brow furrowed in concern. He doesn't let go of his hand, holds it gently instead.  
  
Louis shakes his head, focuses on the repetitive motion of Harry's thumb where it's rubbing soothing circles into his palm.  
  
He wishes he could claw his way out of his skin.  
  
He gets up abruptly, tosses the money on the table and walks out into the pouring rain leaving his coffee untouched. Harry's by his side in a flash, opening his clear sky coloured umbrella and shielding them both from the downfall. It feels like a metaphore.  
  
"Fancy a walk?" Louis offers with a grimace, pulling a cigarette pack out of the pocket of his jeans.  
  
"You'll be late for work," Harry notes but follows him anyway.  
  
"I'm getting fired either way." He revels in the smoke that burns his lungs and curses when he steps into a puddle and feels the water soak through his shoes.  
  
"What?" Harry's stunned enough to halt for a moment. He rushes to catch up when Louis keeps walking.  
  
"Nick's informed me today that he's seriously considering cutting out my column."  
  
"He- Why?"  
  
"Because my writing's gone to shit."  
  
Harry's quiet after that and Louis doesn't look up but he knows he's biting his lip as he ponders what he's heard.  
  
"How come?" he asks at last.  
  
"You ask a lot of questions."  
  
"You don't give a lot of answers."  
  
He says nothing and Harry doesn't prod again, though Louis figures he can barely contain himself.  
  
He strides on despite not knowing where he's going, listens to the steady drum of rain, the cars zooming past. He keeps his head down and catches only glimpses of the cracks in the sidewalk and the raindrops shattering like glass and shining like diamonds when they hit the surface.  
  
He used to tell himself he was keeping quiet to protect them.  
  
The burden only ever gets heavier. It can't be long before he finally caves under it, he thinks. It's been a long time coming.  
  
A sudden, odd sense of calm washes over him at the knowledge, like pieces of puzzle clicking together.  
  
They reach the Tower Bridge. He throws the cigarette butt on the ground, stubs it out and leans against the wet metal railing, shivering when the cold bites his palms. Harry is a steady presence by his side, a warmth in the gloomy afternoon where their arms are pressed together.  
  
"Hold this for me?"  
  
Louis' head snaps up at the sudden request. Harry's lips are at his eye level, his breath fogging up the air as if Louis' mind wasn't already enough of a blur. He takes hold of the wooden handle, looks up at the image of their own personal sky stretched over thin wires.  
  
He watches Harry fiddle with the bag slung over his shoulder. He gets his camera out, brings it up to his face and closes one eye as he chooses the frame. It doesn't look like a professional model but it's probably the best he could afford.  
  
The shutter goes off a couple of times, a soft smile playing on Harry's lips as he captures the misty river with a press to the button as gentle as a caress. Louis wonders what it is exactly that he finds worth preserving. He himself is drawn to the depths and the deceptively slow flow he can imagine surrendering to. He's lost his taste for theatrics, though, would certainly resort to a more private ending, quick and quiet, meant to go as unnoticed and inconsequential as his last breath.  
  
Harry packs the camera back into his bag, handling it with care like it's his most precious possession, which it probably is. Once it's safely tucked away his long fingers curl around the metal bar, brushing the side of Louis' hand.  
  
"I take care of them," Harry's voice startles him again, a delayed response to the earlier conversation. "I promise."  
  
Louis nods. He doesn't trust promises, but he trusts Harry.  
  
***  
  
When night falls and he's free to leave the workload behind he seeks refuge in a crowded club by the force of habit. The couple of drinks he's had don't justify the nausea he feels when hands close around his waist. His mind goes right back to Mark, then the girls, and this time he does bend over and expel the contents of his stomach on the tiled floor. Gasps and curses reach him even over the blaring music and the ringing in his ears.  
  
He comes home to an empty flat. It brings him no joy this time; there's nothing to do and nothing to hide, not when the only thing he wants to do makes him feel sick to the core. He settles on the couch and washes away the taste of vomit with liqour. His eyes burn with lack of sleep yet it still evades him. The alcohol may be the only chance for escape tonight. Even that seems fruitless.  
  
The whiskey burns his throat and leaves him only faintly buzzed, doesn't do much to drown out the thoughts running in circles, screaming at him from within until his head is pounding. He soon drains the bottle that was merely a quarter full to begin with. It hits the floor with a thud but doesn't break.  
  
It's a welcome distraction when he hears the front door open.  
  
He doesn't think much of the crash that comes from the hallway, attributes it to Harry's clumsiness until the boy emerges from the darkness leaning against the doorway to steady himself, a half empty bottle of wine dangling from the tips of his fingers.  
  
"Hi," he breathes, voice raspier than usual.  
  
He walks over precariously, clad in ripped jeans and a fake leather jacket, curls tousled. Even under the dim light of the lamp in the corner of the room his cheeks are obviously flushed and eyes glassy. He's a vision, captivating in the same way he owns the stage when he sings. Louis' never wanted him more.  
  
He kicks off his shoes and climbs on the couch, curls up overwhelmingly close. When he tucks the bottle between a couple of pillows his fingers graze the bare skin of Louis' arm, making him flinch.  
  
"You're freezing cold."  
  
Harry nods, takes it as permission to shuffle closer until he's pressed against Louis' side, absorbing his warmth. "We were at a park."  
  
"Seriously." He wonders what he did with Niall, what they talked about. He remembers the blonde boy, Harry's classmate who would come over once in a while and make the whole house reverbrate with his laughter. He never could help the pang of jealousy at someone stealing Harry's attention away like that.  
  
Harry frowns under Louis' unimpressed glance. "Can't just go to a bar, can I?"  
  
"Shouldn't be drinking at all."  
  
He slaps Louis' hand where it's reaching over him for the wine bottle. "You're only, like, five years older than me."  
  
Louis wrinkles his nose as he reads over the lable. "Tastes like shit, doesn't it?"  
  
"It was cheap," he shrugs. "Kind of the priority."  
  
He steals the bottle from Louis' grasp, uncaps it and takes a swig, the sound of the liquid sloshing around loud in the quietness of the late night. Louis watches his throat move as he swallows, his tongue darting out to lick the remaining drops from his lips.  
  
"Thought you'd be gone when I come back," he whispers, presses closer still. Louis feels like he's reaching inside of him. "I can't sleep when you're gone."  
  
"I think you've had enough." He wrings the bottle from Harry's hands, tries to lift it out of his reach when he goes after it.  
  
"I'm not drunk," he complains. His knee slides over Louis' thighs without a hint of hesitance until he's straddling him as he tugs at his wrist.  
  
Louis' so stunned he doesn't notice the bottle slipping from his grasp until he hears it shatter into pieces. They both flinch at the piercing sound, lower their arms as they look down at the scattered glass debris and the red liquid spreading over the floor boards. It reminds Louis eerily of blood.  
  
"Oops."  
  
He turns his attention back to Harry to find him biting his lip sheepishly.  
  
"Maybe a bit tipsy after all," he adds.  
  
"It's fine," Louis assures him and makes no move to get up and take care of the mess. He can't imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else than trapped under Harry's weight and darkening gaze.  
  
The air feels thick with something momentous, perilous, like threading the edge of a cliff. Louis' grown quite attached to the notion, veins thrumming with the heady rush of the upcoming fall.  
  
He rests his hands atop Harry's thighs savoring their muscular thickness under the skin tight jeans. His fingers slide higher up, a featherlight touch that makes Harry shiver, until his grip tightens around his hips. He watches his wine stained lips part with the hitched breath, hooded eyes flicking between Louis' eyes and lips.  
  
He cannot comprehend how someone can appear so luscious and innocent at the same time.  
  
Harry shifts his weight, balances with hands on the back of the couch, on each side of Louis' head, caging him completely. It brings them that much closer, Harry hovering over him, lips a mere inch away, curls falling over his face.  
  
His heart is racing under the pull of temptation. There's death in his veins and no reason to hold back; he can delight in his sins before he perishes and won't be there to face the consequences.  
  
All it takes is to lift his chin a fraction and his lips drag against Harry's, pull them apart. Rather than a kiss, it's a fleeting contact, tentative yet electric where their sharp breaths are mingling, a suspense that has his curiosity flaring to a sizzling need.  
  
Harry's pulse is fluttering under his fingertips, eyes dancing wildly. Louis wonders how much experience he's previously had, whose mouths have claimed him, girls' or boys' or both, what he's tried and what he fantasises of. It's impossible to estimate when he's radiating this nervous yet carnal energy, pupils blown wide with hunger that draws Louis in like gravity.  
  
The train of thoughts triggers a distant memory, a high school party and a game of truth or dare, Zayn asking him about his first kiss. He stammered, which his friend misinterpreted as a lack of such an experience to talk about and teased him mercilessly about it. Louis could only wish the reason behind the slip was that simple.  
  
He doesn't remember the exact moment his first kiss was stolen from him. The transition was smooth between friendly pecks at the dinner table that his mother found endearing, if a little unconventional, and the hot wet breath on his face waking him up in the dead of the night, a whispered command to keep quiet before a tongue was forced into his mouth, lips too large on his covering his nostrils as well for long seconds that had his lungs burning.  
  
He remembers leaning over to tug a surprised Zayn closer and crashing their lips together, a desperate attempt to overwrite history rather than to shut him up.  
  
As if sensing where he's gone, Harry pulls him sharply into a bruising kiss. Louis expects the nausea to hit him again but it never comes. He feels like he's been pulled back to the surface instead, catching his breath for the first time in months. Everything falls away but the softness of Harry's lips molding against his, the fingers tangling in his hair holding him close.  
  
Louis pulls him flush against his chest, swallows his quiet moan. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know if he wants to stop or live in this moment forever. It feels like a fall rather than a jump, but it's too late to backtrack either way.  
  
There are no words, just wet gasps and the rustling of clothes. They're slow yet rough when they undress each other, masking their uncertainty with teeth and scratch marks, bruising grips and hair pulling.  
  
Harry's eyes are wide as they catalogue every inch of Louis' skin, brimming with both desire and innocence. Louis would feel guilty for defiling him but he rolls his hips against Louis' with a purpose, like he's wanted to do this since the start.  
  
His heated gaze remains undeterred, a bashful smile tugging at his lips when Louis pulls his jeans down and reveals pink panties underneath. Louis' mouth falls open in surprise, a shiver of want running down his spine.  
  
"You're unbelievable," he breathes before he can stop himself.  
  
Harry laughs at that, the sound startling and warming all at once, dimples caving his cheeks and eyes sparkling with mirth. "Naughty," he corrects with a cheeky wink and laughs some more.  
  
Louis can only stare for a while, struck by how remarkable he is and how different it feels, doing any of this with him. He's more than a body to toy with. He's an actual person; a sharp mind, a shining personality and a lovely soul. It makes everything so much more real, and though Louis is far from sober, he sees more clearly now. It makes his movements stutter like Harry's the first person he's touched.  
  
He lays him out on his back on the make-shift bed, kneels between his open legs. The light paints his skin golden, makes shadows pool in the dips of his stomach. The outline of his cock straining against the tight pink fabric makes him look more obscene than if he were naked entirely. A lifetime wouldn't be enough for all Louis wants to do to him.  
  
A lifetime of redemption wouldn't be enough for Louis to deserve him.  
  
A touch of Harry's fingertips against his thigh breaks him out of his frenzied thoughts. He looks up into his calm eyes, lets the green soothe and ground him into present.  
  
He breathes and bends over to trail kisses down his neck. The softness of the skin between his lips and the familiar smell of Harry's cologne quiets his mind for a while and he almost lets himself go until something gives again and he can't remember why he's doing this anymore, doesn't understand what's the point.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on the flesh above Harry's collarbone. Maybe not so different after all, he thinks. Too often he's had to grit his teeth through experiences he's fooled himself into thinking of as pleasurable.  
  
Harry gasps in response, wraps his legs around Louis' waist and pulls at his hair, silently begging for more. It's a bit overwhelming, a bit hard to believe.  
  
Louis feels small as he hides his face into his curls. "D'you want me?" he asks quietly, both baffled and pleading.  
  
"God yes," he replies without missing a beat, "Always want you."  
  
Louis brings his lips to his pulse point, feels the rush of blood under his skin, hears his breathing stutter from how affected he is.  
  
He kisses him with newly regained focus and vigor, intent on making him feel good. He knows he can, even if it's all he's good for.  
  
Harry shivers underneath him when Louis teases his nipples, hisses when he pulls his panties down and groans deep when he takes him into his mouth. Louis feeds off every reaction. It must be some fundamental need to make an impact, albeit an unconventional method, hardly consequential enough to justify his existence.  
  
Louis has seen his cock before, but it seems even bigger now, heavy on his tongue and stretching his lips. He can only imagine what a vision he makes when Harry can't seem to take his eyes off him, even as his back arches and chest heaves.  
  
He draws the sweetest of whimpers from him when he sucks on the head, makes him writhe when he takes him down his throat. Harry's muscles quiver where Louis' holding his hips down, hands gripping the armrest above his head.  
  
"Lou," he begs in a voice wrecked like he's the one who's been sucking a cock.  
  
Louis hums without breaking the rhythm and the vibration must do it for Harry because he throws his head back and comes with a loud groan that dissolves into quiet whimpers when he falls lax. Louis laps up his cum until he's pushing him away in oversensitivity.  
  
Harry watches him climb up his body with dazed half-lidded eyes.  
  
"That was embarassingly quick," he drawls. He's blushing but he smiles like he doesn't mind.  
  
He pulls Louis into a brief kiss, tasting himself on his lips, fingers tracing the line of his jaw so gently it hurts. It leaves Louis dizzy, sprawled half on top of him, breathing his air and drowning in his eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes. He barely registers his own erection trapped against Harry's stomach until Harry's hand sneaks its way into his boxers.  
  
Harry never breaks eye contact, and though the angle is awkward and his technique is sloppy, the way he's looking at him is enough to make Louis fall apart in his arms.  
  
He's too beautiful to look at, Louis thinks as he closes his eyes. He sighs into Harry's curls, perfectly content to let him hold him close with sticky fingers.  
  
Despite his blood sizzling for more, he remains quiet and still, disinclined to disturb the calm that has settled upon the room. It's feasible to supress the unsatiable hunger when Harry's sleepy and warm next to him. Listening to his breathing evening out as he drifts off, Louis could almost convince himself that everything is right in the world.  
  
If the entirety of his life could come down to this, the shared warm silence shielded from reality, perhaps it would be bearable to exist.  
  
***  
  
The hazy glow of the rising sun coaxes Louis' eyes open. He rolls to his side, stretching in the process in an attempt to relieve the stiffness in his back. It's then that he wonders why he's waking up on his couch instead of the bed.  
  
The answer may lie in the boy kneeling on the floor in front of him and observing him through the lenses of a camera. Louis gets too invested in staring back to protest.  
  
His ruffled hair simmers in the sunlight, a smile with a bitter edge lacing his lips. Louis' just skimming over his bare chest when the sound of the shutter startles him.  
  
Harry's eyes are bright when he lowers the camera despite the dark circles under them.  
  
"Hope you don't mind," he murmurs, the words soft in the early morning. "I just had to..."  
  
His teeth sink into his lower lip, a reflection of the frustration at the sentiment he cannot explain.  
  
Looking at him now, Louis understands. The shivering desperation to preserve the moments seeping through his fingers like sand. He's recognized it before in the depths of Harry's eyes and the twitching of his hands. He feels it now himself because this right here in front of him, this complex beauty of a boy, should never ever cease to exist.  
  
"It's okay," Louis replies although nothing really is.  
  
A crease forms between Harry's eyebrows at the poorly concealed heaviness in Louis' tone. He crawls back up onto the couch, crowds into Louis' space under the fluffy blanket he must have thrown over them during the night.  
  
"We should talk," he whispers, ever the mature one.  
  
It's scarier in the light of the day, the hand that wraps around Louis' wrist so gently and knowingly. A biting remark is on the tip of his tongue, the only means of protection he knows.  
  
The intensity of Harry's gaze holds him in place. It's not the fabricated intimacy of having seen each other come. There are years' worth of strings tying them together and the whole of last night seems like yet another knot in the line.  
  
This boy will mourn him, Louis knows, even if no one else does.  
  
How thoroughly unfair, to bestow him with more grief. But Louis is nothing if not a sinner.  
  
On a whim, he tugs Harry into a lingering kiss. No other lips have felt so soft, have tasted so sweet. Perhaps it's the fragility of the moment, the inevitable doom hanging over his head that's intensifying each sensation. Perhaps everything is more beautiful in the face of death and the value of the world lies in its transience.  
  
"You have to leave," Louis presses the words into his skin with an air of regret like it's a fact he has no jurisdiction over.  
  
The hand that's wound its way into Louis' hair drops to his side.  
  
"No," Harry denies with a shake of his head, colour draining from his face and a storm brewing in his eyes.  
  
"You don't belong here," he carries on, making Harry's face crumple like a knife is being twisted into his heart.  
  
He sits up, shaking his head again in disbelief, something akin to horror etched into the lines of his face.  
  
"What have you become?" he wonders out loud, not for the first time.  
  
"A beast," Louis supplies, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm afraid the last petal had already fallen by the time you kissed me."  
  
The words make Harry's glare soften into pity that wipes the sardonic smirk off Louis' face.  
  
"I'm not here to save you," Harry tells him. "I'm here to save myself."  
  
"From what?"  
  
Tears prick his downcast eyes at that and his hands ball into fists in his lap. Louis sits up abruptly and just barely stops himself from reaching for him.  
  
"Harry..." he breathes, frowning in concern he can't supress.  
  
"Don't," he lashes out, voice firm and cutting. "Don't pretend you care when all you do is toy with me for your entertainment."  
  
It strikes a cord. The full extent of his mistakes hits Louis all at once and he sees himself for what he truly is. He is indeed a beast, and not just any kind. The shadow that creeps into a boy's bed in his nightmares has his face, he realizes. He's fought his demons for so long he's become one of them.  
  
He feels sick.  
  
He's never liked thinking of himself as a victim. He'd rather underestimate the severity of the issue. To think of Harry or his sisters on the receiving end of such vile cruelty is something else entirely, and to think of himself as someone who inflicts such damage upon others a whole new level of unbearable.  
  
Dying might just be the most noble thing he ever does, relieving the world of such filth.  
  
"That's not... That's not what last night was about," he tries. He wonders if he sounds as defeated to Harry as he does to himself.  
  
He wishes he could say he would never do anything to hurt him. He would and he has. Despite the lengths he would go to to make sure nobody else does the same.  
  
Somehow it makes sense in his twisted mind. The only kind of love he knows, if it can be called that.  
  
"What was it about then?" Harry demands and Louis doesn't miss the way he pulls up the blanket to shield himself from view.  
  
It feels like miles of distance suddenly stretch out between them. A bitter victory, succeeding in pushing away such an open, persistant heart.  
  
"I don't know," Louis admits. He doesn't know why he does anything. "You do need to leave, though. For your own good."  
  
Harry's expression goes blank, cold. He nods slowly.  
  
"Certainly, if that's what you want. It was never my intention to impose," he says with the politeness of a stranger. "And don't worry, I'm sure I'll manage on my own."  
  
Louis watches him retrieve his clothes from the floor and get dressed with trembling hands.  
  
"Why don't you go back home?"  
  
"I don't want to go back."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Harry looks up from where he's been packing up his camera. "I figured you of all people would understand without me having to explain."  
  
Louis doesn't know what to make of the answer. It's both pacifying and alarming. Before he can process it, though, another concern occurs to him.  
  
"You can't just leave the girls for good." He remembers the promise in the overheard conversation. Surely Harry wouldn't dare break it.  
  
"No, only you have that privilege, don't you?" he retorts, but the way he refuses to meet Louis' eyes reeks of guilt.  
  
Louis has nothing to say to that. He stares at a crack in the floorboards and doesn't move, doesn't speak again while Harry methodically removes his traces from Louis' life. Until the front door slams shut and he's all alone again.  
  
The room is left devoid of colour, surfaces bare and edges sharp, as vacant as Louis' soul.  
  
The stillness in the air is chilling, the silence deafening. It's what he's wanted all along. And yet...  
  
He lays down, curls up under the fluffy blanket that got left behind and inhales the remnants of Harry's scent. It smells of infinite sadness.  
  
***  
  


 

 

 

II.  
_shame, n. - a pervasive, negative emotional state marked by self-reproach and a sense of personal failure_

 

  
  
The timid dawn blooms into daylight and dims back into slow embers of dusk around him and he barely notices. He's perfected the pitiful art of wasting time in his lethargy. He only gets up to take a piss and ignores the growling of his stomach.

 

He can't silence the voice in his head screaming at him that something is wrong, that Harry is not fine. Louis used to be the one to know his every thought just by looking at his face. He knows nothing now. He doesn't know what's troubling the boy, what drove him to London in the first place. He doesn't know how serious the issue is and it gnaws at him.  
  
Eventually he falls asleep alternately planning his demise and worrying about Harry's whereabouts. The thoughts blend into a bone chilling dream.  
_  
The bathroom door is cracked open, the sharp light spilling out on the hallway floor around Louis' feet. It feels inexplicably ominous.  
  
He gives it a tentative push with the tips of his fingers.  
  
It swings open hypnotizingly slow, gradually revealing the deep red tainting the cold white of the tiles, spreading still with the strength of the tide. And down at the end of it, where the flow is the thickest, slumped against the side of the bathub... Harry. Harry with his eyes closed, skin translucent under the flourescent light. Harry with his wrists slit.  
  
Louis feels cold all over. His ears ring with the pounding of his heart and he doesn't feel his legs move but he sinks to his knees by the boy's side. The blood soaks through his jeans, the copper smell invading his nostrils, making his stomach turn.  
  
He fumbles for his phone, digs it out of the back pocket of his jeans though it keeps slipping from his trembling clammy hands.  
  
He tries to dial 999 but his fingers won't cooperate. He keeps hitting all the wrong numbers.  
  
He's sweating, muscles twitching from tension and he can't seem to get enough air into his lungs.  
  
He needs to save him._  
  
_It feels like his chest is caving in, ribs crushing the organs underneath. His knuckles are white from gripping the phone so hard.  
  
He's failing.  
  
He discards the phone, reaches for Harry instead. He wraps a hand around each of his wrists, presses down onto the cuts in a fruitless attempt to stop the bleeding. He watches his chest move with shallow breaths and begs him silently to wake up. He can't, can't process that Harry would do this to himself.  
  
The room sways around him, black spots flooding the center of his vision._  
  
He wakes up gasping for air.  
  
He takes in his surroundings and sags in relief. Just a dream, he tells himself, though the imagery is still vivid in his mind, the panic still thrumming in his veins.  
  
He clenches his shaking hands, stares at the ceiling as he waits for his breathing to even out.  
  
Just a dream. It didn't even make sense.  
  
But when he closes his eyes again all he sees is red and his heart hammers with a fresh wave of fear.  
  
He sits up, nervous and jittery. It takes another minute of biting his nails and bouncing his leg before he gives up the pretense and rumages through his scattered clothes to retrieve his phone.  
  
He types in the password without difficulty. Such a silly, illogical dream, he tries to convince himself again even as he scrolls down his contact list. Nothing to get worked up about.  
  
The first call goes unanswered. Dread coils in his stomach.  
  
He dials again and chews on his nails as he counts the beeps.  
  
"Hello?" comes the reply after the fourth ring. The voice is distinctly not Harry's.  
  
"Niall?" he questions, his brow creased.  
  
"Yeah..." the boy trails off uncertainly.  
  
"Where's Harry?"  
  
"Uh... He's... not feeling well."  
  
The response only serves to agitate Louis further. He has to take a deep breath before he can try and deal with it rationally.  
  
"I said, where is he?" he demands, keeping his tone level yet firm.  
  
Niall relents at that. When he mentions a park, Louis can assume what they've been up to. He insists on sending a taxi to pick them up, which the boy accepts heartily.  
  
He replaces his cum-crusted boxers with clean ones, throws on some clothes and takes the stairs to the lobby of the building, too restless to stay in the flat a minute longer. He's a mess, unshaved and unshowered, and feels even worse than he looks, probably. Like he hasn't slept in weeks.  
  
He lights a cigarette, leans against the graffiti decorated wall and waits. His eyes follow the cloud of smoke rising in tendrils into the air before it dissipates on its way to the stars. He sighs into the night, the city buzzing around him.  
  
He remembers the last time he came down to wait for Harry, the jealousy his night out with Nick had sparked.  
  
Right. Nick. Louis might have forgotten to show up for work again. So much for the possibility of avoiding getting his ass fired.  
  
It hardly disturbs the resignation that has long since settled upon him.  
  
Harry, though... The image of his lifeless body must have carved itself into the back of his eyelids. It rattles him to the core. He can barely breathe through the need to see him, to make sure he's alright and to make sure he stays that way.  
  
Just when he thought he had found a solution. The world seems a scary, hostile place again, now that he has something to lose. Something to live for. Fuck.  
  
It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, a quiet rage gnawing at his bones, a taunting fear whispering in his ear.  
  
He squishes the cigarette butt into the pavement and squints at the car pulling over.  
  
The blonde boy is the first to get out and he motions for Louis to approach. He's a step away when a familiar head of curls comes into view as Harry leans out of his seat and promptly throws up on the sidewalk.  
  
"Charming." Louis grimaces before turning to Niall. "Where's his stuff?"  
  
The boy glances between the two of them unsurely. "At my hotel. I can bring it over in the morning if that's..."  
  
"That'd be great," Louis cuts him off. "Thanks."  
  
Niall nods and doesn't protest when Louis pays for the ride, adding extra to cover the boy's way back to the hotel.  
  
He gets back to where Harry's still sitting leaning on his knees and crouches down to see his face, careful not to step into the vomit.  
  
"Alright, love. Time to walk a bit."  
  
Harry doesn't respond, his eyes squeezed shut and brow creased as he focuses on taking measured breaths.  
  
He protests weakly when Louis heaves him to his feet, swaying in his hold.  
  
"Hush," Louis silences him gently, wraps his arm around his neck and starts walking him inside.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," Niall calls after them before getting back into the taxi.  
  
Louis waves over his shoulder in response, trying to stay upright despite Harry resting most of his weight on him.  
  
"I'm gonna need you to cooperate," he tells him with a huff. "You're way too tall for this."  
  
They make it to the flat with minor difficulties. Louis' just grateful that Harry manages to resist the urge to throw up until he's safely leaning over the toilet.  
  
The sight of him kneeling on the bathroom floor, so close to where the dream version of him lied unconscious, makes Louis feel a little faint himself.  
  
He crouches behind him, cards his fingers through the wild strands of his hair to keep them away from his face. He listens to his uneven breaths, cringes at the retching sounds and the violent shudders of Harry's body that accompany it.  
  
Harry whimpers when the nausea gets the better of him for the third time, and the fourth, and again and again. Louis' beginning to worry when it finally subsides into dry heaves and then ceases completely.  
  
He sags against Louis' chest, ghostly pale and shivering.  
  
Louis' arms wrap around his middle on their own volition, hold him safe and close. Though the air is polluted with a less than pleasant smell, Louis finds the sweetness of his scent when he noses at his neck. He could drown in it and the curls brushing his face.  
  
He shouldn't but he presses his lips against his pulse point, feels the fluttering of his heartbeats.  
  
"Lou," the boy murmurs barely intelligibly. His eyes are slipping closed, Louis sees when he pulls away.  
  
When his head lulls to the side, his cheek brushes against Louis' like a breath. The softness of his skin and the frightening closeness send a tremor through Louis' hands splayed across his ribs, moving with his breaths.  
  
"C'mon, love," he whispers and his lips drag delicately over Harry's temple as he speaks. "Need to get up."  
  
He, himself, has no desire for moving, though. His legs are falling asleep and he has yet to flush the toilet and it should be awful, disgusting, but it feels like a peace of heaven, having this wonderful boy warm and breathing in his arms.  
  
With a sigh of regret, he pulls them both to their feet and has to prop an arm against the wall to regain balance.  
  
"Don't," Harry complains, brow furrowing and eyes still closed. "Dizzy."  
  
"I know." Louis rubs his back soothingly. "Just need to get you to bed and then you can sleep, okay?"  
  
Keeping a grip on Harry with one hand, he uses the other to flush the toilet, nose scrunching up in distaste. He then maneuvers him all the way to the living room, stumbling only once which he counts as success.  
  
He walks over to the sink in the adjoining kitchen to fill a glass of water after settling Harry onto the couch. He lets the cold stream pour over his hands, imagines it washing away the blood that coated them in the dream. For a moment he feels the full extent of how emotionally drained he is and he thinks his knees might just give out under the weight of it.  
  
He closes the tap and forces himself to buck up.  
  
When he returns Harry's lying on his back, eyes closed. Louis sits on the floor by his side and coaxes him to sit up with a gentle hand.  
  
He presses the rim of the glass against his lips, whispers ecouragements into his ear until he gulps down the water. He lets him lie back down then, leaves the empty glass on the coffee table behind his back.  
  
Harry's breathing is heavy, face still scrunched up in discomfort. Louis watches him carefully, stroking his hair, worried he's going to be sick again.  
  
He looks so fragile it's unsettling. Louis' fingertip traces the red clusters of capillaries that have burst beneath the skin under his eyes from the exertion of throwing up. His eyes snap open at the contact, bloodshot and exhausted.  
  
Louis should turn off the light, let him sleep.  
  
He gets up to do so when Harry breaks the silence. "Stay," he croaks out, eyes falling shut as soon as the word is out.  
  
Louis flips the switch, coating them in darkness, and returns to his spot on the floor with soft footsteps, feeling like a piece of his heart has just crumbled in his chest.  
  
He leans against the couch, the edge of the coffee table digging into his shin. He listens to Harry's quiet breaths deepening, reclining his head on the corner of his pillow though the angle is already making his neck sore. It seems appropriate somehow, a small atonement.  
  
He turns his head to the side, observes the slope of Harry's bare shoulder where his wide cut jumper has slipped down. Maybe he should have undressed him so he could sleep more comfortably, he ponders. It seems like crossing a boundary of a sort, though. Which is funny, he supposes, considering that he sucked his cock just last night.  
  
He shouldn't be thinking about that. About the sounds Harry makes when he comes, and the fact that he wears pink panties, and many many other sweet, alluring things. He shouldn't be thinking at all, not when he feels like he might burst from all the conflicted emotions he's trying not to feel.  
  
If only he knew how to halt the spinning of his mind to a stop. Only Harry can do that, though, he thinks.  
  
Harry who looks so inexplicably breakable under the soft moonlight. Like he needs Louis to shield him from the world, and perhaps himself.  
  
Which is nonsense, probably.  
  
But Louis feels a staggering trepidation at the thought of letting him out of his sight. There's more to Harry than he lets on, a dark tinged complexity under his easy smiles. Louis' subconsciousness may be exaggerating, but nevertheless... He shouldn't have let him walk away.  
  
He yearns to touch him, to find reassurance in the warmth of his skin, but he refrains, unwilling to disturb his sleep.  
  
He closes his eyes instead and lets the weariness chase away the thoughts.  
  
***  
  
Sharp knocking resonates through the small flat, pulling Louis awake. He grimaces, bent at odd angles in the constrained space between the couch and the coffee table, the floor hard and unforgiving under his back.  
  
It's not like there's an empty bed he could have slept in mere ten feet away, he scowls at himself.  
  
He stretches his neck in a vain attempt to relieve some of the ache and stiffness, glances at Harry slumbering peacefully above him. He looks a little worse for wear, wrinkled clothes and pale skin, ruffled hair matted with sweat. The lines of his face are smoothed out in a serene expression, though, and bathed in the soft glow of the early sun breaking through the city smog. Louis could quite possibly spend the day looking at him and never get tired of it.  
  
Another three raps come in quick succession.  
  
It must be Niall, Louis recalls and forces himself upright. He shuffles to the door with a prolonged yawn, fuzzy with sleep.  
  
When he opens the door, however, he's unpleasantly surprised.  
  
It's a woman in her late forties, he estimates, blonde hair and immaculate styling, lips pursed and eyes sharp as she gives him a once over.  
  
"Louis, I take it?" she questions, unimpressed and disapproving.  
  
He's about to shut the door in her face, entirely unwilling to deal with this overbearing stranger, when he takes note of the familiar suitcase placed on the floor by her feet.  
  
"Yes?" he offers impatiently, leaning against the doorway.  
  
She's polished, out of place in the slimy building, the chipped walls tainted black with moisture contrasting the satin of her ironed suit and her manicured nails, their sharp edges and dark red colour appearing repulsive and almost threatening to Louis. They tap against the metal cleft of her purse in a flat annoying beat. Her eyes flick to the doorframe where Louis' fingers drum in response.  
  
"Maura Gallagher," she introduces herself without offering a hand, a sign of resent from an otherwise well mannered lady. Louis has to literally bite his tongue to keep from mocking her. "Niall's mother."  
  
Louis nods imperceptibly in aknowledgement. "Thank you for bringing Harry's stuff back." He feigns a smile, curving his lips with exagerrated sweetness while his eyes bore into her sardonically.  
  
"I'm on my way to a meeting so I'll make this quick," she carries on like Louis hasn't spoken at all. "The reason I'm here is to tell you that I am not blind to the way you're mistreating the poor boy, throwing him out with no care of where he will go. Joanna is a dear friend of mine and I will make sure to notify her of yesterday's events."  
  
Louis lifts his eyebrows, narrows his eyes. "Right."  
  
"I hope he will be taken from your unfitting custody in due time," she concludes, undeterred.  
  
He crosses his arms over his chest, stares back blankly.  
  
She lifts the suitcase, her arm trembling for a moment under the strain, and drops it disdainfully below Louis' feet. "You can't fool me," she spits out under her breath. "You're a vile young man, a terrible influence."  
  
He smirks. "You know nothing about me, I assure you."  
  
"Oh, I've heard quite enough."  
  
His expression remains composed, but his insides quiver infinitesimally.  
  
"Like I said, I'll do my best to save the boy from your claws. This world doesn't need more of the likes of you." With that she turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the dusty tiles.  
  
He drags the suitcase inside and slams the door shut.  
  
He returns to Harry who has stirred from sleep, the hag's words floating unwanted on the edges of his thoughts, his blood brimming with shame. He sits at the bottom of the couch, bites down on his knuckles to stop them from trembling.  
  
"Who was that?" Harry slurs sleepily, eyes half-lidded and eyebrows pinched.  
  
"No one."  
  
Harry's foot kicks his side lightly in reprimand. "Tell me," he insists.  
  
"Niall's mother," he relents with a sigh. "She brought your things back."  
  
Harry's eyes are too observant, too wise as they stare up at him. It's tiring, the way they pick him apart, prod at every place that hurts.  
  
"What did you talk about?" he asks knowingly.  
  
"Nothing important," Louis dismisses and gets back on his feet. "I'll get you some water. What else would you like? Something to eat? Painkillers? Do you have a headache?"  
  
Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis' fussing. "Water's fine."  
  
He pads barefoot to the kitchen, enjoying the cold prickling the soles of his feet. He holds his wrists under the chilling stream, rubs the smooth skin and watches the contours of veins underneath fade and fill back up again when he takes his thumb away.  
  
He doesn't bother wiping his hands. They drip all over the counter and the cabinet above when he opens it to retrieve a glass.  
  
He fills it to the brink, the steady trickling of the water soothing his nerves. It sloshes and spills when he takes it to the living room, the drops tickling as they glide down the back of his hand and hit the floor with soft taps.  
  
Harry watches him curiously. It makes him wonder if he's acting a little insane.  
  
He sits on the edge of the couch by Harry knees. Harry sits up with a barely audible groan, face contorting and hands coming up to massage his temples.  
  
"You sure you don't want any painkillers?"  
  
He shakes his head, leans weakly against the backrest. "I don't like them."  
  
A ridiculous statement from Louis' perspective. It almost makes him smile.  
  
"She tends to meddle," he says suddenly and it takes Louis a second to catch up with his train of thought. His words flow even more slowly than usual, threading the fog of hangover. "She must have ribbed you about me showing up at their hotel yesterday. Bad idea, that. But I didn't know where else to go. Luckily they're leaving tonight."  
  
His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, pale skin visible through the holes of his olive coloured jumper. His fingers reach under his thighs, find Louis' hand where it's resting atop the covers. They trace the wet skin of his knuckles, a tickling whisper of a touch. Louis has to focus to keep breathing when he presses down harder, nails scraping, marking him.  
  
He recalls what he told Harry yesterday. It seems a plausible comparison, beauty and the beast. Even Maura Gallagher would agree.  
  
This, though... The twisted taste of the way Harry is claiming him...  
  
Under the layers of brightness and charm lies a soul more akin to Louis' than anyone could ever imagine, he knows, has known for a long time.  
  
"I meant what I said. You'd be better off somewhere else."  
  
Harry opens his eyes at that. The green of his irises is swirling, drawing Louis in like a vortex. "I think I can decide for myself. Unless I'm a burden, of course."  
  
Louis shakes his head, unwilling to voice just how wrong the assumption is. Harry flips his hand over silently, runs a finger over the lines etched in his palm.  
  
"Trying to read my destiny?" he quips, words wavering as they roll from his tongue. He feels the beats of his heart in his throat, disturbing the air flow.  
  
Harry's smile is soft, bashful as he looks down. His eyelashes cast shadows on the bruised skin under his eyes.  
  
"Unimportant," he murmurs with a slow shake of his head, playing with Louis' fingers.  
  
"What?"  
  
He glances up, smile widening at Louis' confusion. "Destiny. It's unimportant," he says matter-of-factly.  
  
He reaches for the glass Louis' almost forgotten he's holding without releasing the hold on his other hand where he's tangling their fingers together. His lips are a glistening, blooming red when he lowers the glass after taking a swig. Louis leans in without thinking and their eyes meet, dangerously close, and their hands grip tighter, knuckles turn white and Louis can't breathe.  
  
He's threading the edge again. The cliff is high, precarious, the waters beneath deep and unforgiving, waves slamming like thunder into the sharp solid rocks.  
  
Harry only rests his head on Louis' shoulder, though.  
  
"I feel sick," he mumbles. His eyelashes fan across Louis' skin when he shuts his eyes.  
  
Louis wraps an arm around his shoulders, doesn't know what else to do.  
  
"Do you want me to stay?" His voice is small, hushed.

 

A vision of him lying pale on the bathroom floor flashes in front of Louis' eyes. His grip tightens.  
  
"I do," Louis responds earnestly, at a loss for further excuses.  
  
He feels a fraction of a nod against his neck and then Harry is disentangling their limbs, settling back down, hand tucked under his head. It's barely a minute before he's asleep, soft like the pillows scattered around him, a content smile gracing his lips.  
  
Louis watches the light catch in his hair and among a spectre of jumbled emotions he finds a touch of gratitude.  
  
***  
  
When evening rolls back around Harry leaves for work, pale faced and puffy eyed. His sense of responsibilty, undeterred by Louis' suggestion of calling in sick, serves to inspire Louis to deal with his own obligations. Mostly, though, it's for lack of anything better to do. The flat is suddenly too empty and cold, sending his mind into a frenzy where he has to repeatedly remind himself that Harry is alright and is going to be back in a couple of hours. He's reached a new level of insanity.  
  
He's greedily sucking in the cigarette smoke as he skims over the list of missed texts and calls on his phone, leaning on the window sill, the wood making indents in his forearms.  
  
' _I hope for your own good that you're lying dead somewhere cause that'd be the only valid excuse for this_ ,' the last text from Nick reads.  
  
' _Don't be dramatic_ ,' he types back, unable to resist being a shit.  
  
His phone rings a second after the mesage is delivered.  
  
"Look who's risen from the dead," Nick drawls in his ear when he picks up, sounding more bored than pissed, which is good.  
  
"I had... issues." He exhales the smoke, vaguely regrets not making up a proper excuse.  
  
"I can imagine."  
  
He lets the silence drag, flicks off the ashes and watches it fall toward the street in swirls.  
  
"Do you have any intention of keeping this job?" Nick questions at last.  
  
He sighs. Work sounds depressing, tedious. Being homeless even more so, however.  
  
"Yes," he replies decisively.  
  
"Hmmm," is all he gets in response. He rolls his eyes, takes another drag of the cigarette.  
  
"I don't know why I'm so disinclined to sack you," Nick muses after a while. "It'd be for your own good, too. To teach you that your actions have consequences."  
  
It's said in an offhanded manner but it hits a little too close home, makes Louis' skin feel hot all over.  
  
"You'll have to step up your game," Nick warns him.  
  
"I know."  
  
"I expect you at the office at eight sharp. No slacking off. The deadline is near and you're starting from scratch."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
He hangs up and snubs out the cigarette against the window pane leaving a dark smudge on the chipping white paint. He lights up another one.  
  
He stares at the descending darkness swallowing the clouds hanging thick above the city. There's a tension in his limbs he can't unwind. There's nothing to focus on but his own perilous thoughts.  
  
His left hand travels down to the waistband of his trousers, unbidden. It slips inside, pulls loosely at his soft cock, seeking distraction in the sensation.  
  
Pathetic.  
  
He pulls his hand out violently, knocks it against the wall in the process. Sharp pain shoots through his bones, making him curse and drop his cigarette.  
  
He breathes harshly through his nose, tastes the ashes in his mouth, throat burning and hand throbbing. He's combusting into flames, he thinks. Courtesy of a god he never believed in.  
  
It would be fair. Sadly that's not how the world works, so he's still alive and well an hour later when Harry arrives, sweaty and changrin.  
  
There's a rush in Louis' bloodstream when he sees him walk in, an awakening of senses. That's when he knows he's addicted.  
  
He strides forward, meets him halfway.  
  
Harry's eyebrows shot up, some of the tension melting away from the lines of his face. "Hi?"  
  
"Hi," Louis responds, voice low and rough. He crowds into his space, breathes him in with urgency like he's oxygen he's been deprived of.  
  
He's so close to kissing him his head is swimming. He can't, though. Can't tarnish him with the filth of his lips.  
  
He rests his forehead against Harry's shoulder, tries to breathe more evenly, quietly. It doesn't work. His eyes sting and his lungs compress and he doesn't know what's happening to him but he wants it to stop.  
  
He can't see the deep frown on Harry's face but he knows it's there.  
  
Fingers trail hesistantly up his spine, curl around the back of his neck. His skin erupts in goosebumps. He hates being touched like that, unnecessarily and casually, would rather let a stranger fuck him than shake his hand. Right now, though, coming from Harry, it seems like just what he needs.  
  
He fits his body against Harry's, presses as close as he can get, melts into the contact. Frustration twists his stomach, has his hands clenching, clawing at Harry's flesh. He can't get close enough, can't break the barrier that makes them two separate beings no matter how much he longs to dissolve and seep into Harry's cells.  
  
"Easy," Harry soothes barely louder than a whisper, brushing his fingers across Louis' until he loosens his grip.  
  
"Sorry," he gets out, squeezes his eyes shut and pretends he doesn't exist.  
  
"Did something happen while I was gone?" Harry asks quietly.  
  
Louis refuses to meet his worried, confused gaze. He shakes his head against Harry's neck and lets the dark curls conceal his face, hands spreading out over Harry's blazer clad shoulders.  
  
"Don't leave me."  
  
He barely hears himself speak, but the words hang heavy in the stilted air, make them both stiffen in surprise. It punctures something vital in Louis' chest, he's sure. He shudders, would certainly come apart if it weren't for Harry's arms that wrap around him, holding him together.  
  
"I won't," he whispers back after a moment. Louis doesn't believe him, but he's here now and maybe that's all that matters.  
  
He's frantic, nauseated from self-hatred and paranoia. He wishes he could rewrite years of his life, be worthy of the boy silencing his demons with the softness of his touch, holding him close like he needs him in return just as badly.  
  
He's reluctant to let go for the couple of minutes Harry needs to change into more comfortable clothes. He chews on his nails while Harry undresses, refuses to look at his half naked form and stares instead down the hall at the door of his bedroom like it's the gate of hell. The room is a bitter reminder of his worthlessness. He's been avoiding stepping inside for fear of seeing more of what he is.  
  
The light goes off and arms wrap around him from behind where he's sitting on the edge of the couch, tug him into a warm solid chest. He tenses beyond reason, back tingling with dread.  
  
He's about to wrangle out of his grasp when Harry speaks, right into his ear.  
  
"Lou?" A small baffled word unwinds the tendrils of panic from Louis' throat because he knows this voice.  
  
"It's you," he thinks aloud in a soft exhale of relief.  
  
"It's me," Harry confirms, tightening his grip and engulfing him completely.  
  
Darkness obscures his sight, and all Louis can percieve of the world is the sound of Harry's breaths and the press of his body along every line of his. He never wants to feel anything else again.  
  
He shouldn't be letting him see him falling apart like this, he thinks, but he's too tired to care, too comfortable in his embrace to think of it as a sign of weakness.  
  
It's nothing Harry hasn't seen before, anyway. Not so long ago he found Louis wrecked and humiliated, bathed and dressed him as if he were a child incapable of taking care of himself.  
  
"Do you think I've gone insane?" he finds himself asking.  
  
Harry sucks in a sharp breath, holds him tighter still. The night around them is fragile, minutes slipping away.  
  
"Do you?" he insists, louder, ruptures the quiet of the room. He doesn't think he sounds like himself.  
  
Lips touch the juncture of his neck, featherlight. "Let's go to sleep, yeah? Please."  
  
He lets the gentle pull of Harry's arms redirect the stream of his thoughts and coax him to lie down. Eyes flutter shut and silence settles like dust over them. He stays as close as possible, finds it strangely natural to slot against Harry's side.  
  
A hand slips under the hem of his shirt. It sets the skin of his lower back ablaze with caresses as light as a breath, disturbs the regular thumps of his heart.  
  
The movements of Harry's hand grow slower as he drifts off. As soothing as the sensation is, its intimacy feels too intense for Louis to follow and keeps him grounded in the moment.  
  
It's like he's suspended midair, on a precipe of a myriad of conflicting sentiments. The restlessness has him speaking out again, selfishly startling Harry from his doze.  
  
"How was your performance?"  
  
The boy blinks at him, disoriented. "Not very good," he replies after a while, mouth tilting downward, voice gruff and stilted. "My throat's sore. It made me sound off."  
  
Louis frowns at his displeasure. "I'm sure you were lovely anyway," he attempts to reassure, poking at the corner of Harry's lips until his cheek caves into a dimple.  
  
Harry's eyes are glowing with warmth when he thanks him softly. His hand resumes the tender stroking of Louis' bare back, making him tingle with something inexplicable.  
  
"Have you heard from the girls?" Louis ventures again.  
  
Something akin to wonder lights up Harry's expression, the drowsiness cleared out of his eyes. He's taking the perplexing mood swings rather well, Louis notes.  
  
"Not today. I'll call in the morning."  
  
Louis nods tightly, not alleviated by the answer.  
  
Harry must notice the newly arisen tension in Louis' muscles. Eyebrows drawn, he rubs at his back more insistently. "Why are you so worried about their trip?"  
  
There's something seriously wrong with him, Louis decides, because he answers the question. "I never used to let them be alone with... him." The name gets stuck in his throat, mouth declining to form the word.  
  
"Why?" Harry asks with all the innocent confusion and honesty.  
  
Louis bites his tongue then but he can almost hear the wheels turning in Harry's head, his heart beginning to race with fear of what conclusion he might come to.  
  
He can see the moment it clicks, the miniscule widening of Harry's eyes and the stilling of his hand. Heat pools across Louis' skin, his stomach drops and hands twitch, breaking out in sweat.  
  
"Did he hurt you, Louis?"  
  
"Don't," he pleads, voice cracking and lungs burning. "Don't, don't."  
  
It's like a bomb going off, the light of the explosion rendering him blind and the noise leaving him deaf in its wake. It's a moment of pure horrifying nothing, all of his senses narrowing down to blank panic.  
  
"Okay, okay," he faintly hears Harry's hurried backtracking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- Breathe, Louis. Breathe."  
  
He can't, though. It's crashing down on him, the reality of it. Harry's stunned gaze burns down his defenses, gives flesh to the ghosts.  
  
It didn't happen if no one knows. No one was supposed to know.  
  
He wants to tell him not to touch him, but the sentence doesn't make it past his lips, the echo of another time he failed to say the same too paralyzing.  
  
He pushes away harshly, dry silent sobs racking his chest.  
  
"It's me," Harry says when Louis flinches away from his reaching hand, a scary understanding dawning in his tone. "Breathe with me, c'mon." He cradles Louis' cheeks in his palms, urging him to focus. "It's just you and me. Everything's fine."  
  
He keeps shaking his head, drowning and desperate to hide, and Harry keeps whispering about here and now, lathering his wounds in sweetness and brushing the world away.  
  
With a hand pressed to his chest he guides him to steady breaths, drags him through the residual dizziness and the mud of the memories back to the present of his eyes that still look at him with the same softness.  
  
And Louis' just gone, down where he was heading all night, tired bones and vacant eyes, and yet still striving for Harry's warmth. He crawls unthinkingly into his embrace before succumbing to sleep under the weight of the past hours.  
  
***  
  
He wakes up too early, when the dawn is just beginning to crack the thick fog of the night. He's on the edge of the bed, an inch away from falling, Harry's heated body plastered to his back. He pushes into him until Harry scoots back to accomodate him, molds against him even in his sleep.  
  
The air is heavy, too hot and humid, and they're crammed together suffocatingly close. He doesn't mind. He wants to burn in it.  
  
His mind is hazy, swimming with memories he wishes he could erase. It feels like the core of his being is quivering.  
  
Though his instinct is screaming at him to get away, he finds an odd sense of relief in the way Harry clutches him in his arms. Even the temptation of the cigarette pack he left on the window sill isn't enough to pry him away.  
  
He can't quite understand how his life turned into this. Sharing a bed each night, clinging to this boy like a lifeline.  
  
Looking at the soft contours of his face in the ethereal light, he remembers he's only seventeen. God. So young and so much wiser than Louis, so much stronger.  
  
He blinks awake like he can feel Louis' gaze on him. The deep green in his eyes makes Louis' heart falter.  
  
His gaze is immediately alert, searching. Louis feels bare under it, almost shuffles away. Harry keeps him locked in his embrace, though, and doesn't hurt him.  
  
He lays his head on Louis' chest and listens to his heartbeat like there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't say anything at all. They communicate in another way, in the warm trickling silence that lets Louis breathe. Their hands talk as they line up, fingers whisper when they gently tuck strands of hair into place. For all the chaos within him, Louis is at peace, here and now at least. And here and now is all they have anyway, is what Harry says. Maybe there's something to that, Louis ponders as he watches the cross glint stark across the smooth expanse of the back of Harry's hand.  
  
He grips Harry's shoulder when his hand slips under Louis' shirt, feeling breakable in the wake of last night.  
  
"Do you mind?" Harry asks, looking up apologetically and moving to retrieve his hand.  
  
Louis hurries to shake his head. "It's okay."  
  
Something unravels within him at Harry's asking for permission. Louis keeps holding onto him, overwhelmed as he traces patterns over Louis' bare skin. There's no desire in Harry's ministrations, only quiet yearning.  
  
He's wondered before how a touch can erode a mind more efficiently than a kick. What he didn't know of its power is that it can make the walls around his heart crumble and its scars fade.  
  
He finds himself wishing they were naked, for no other reason than to feel more of him.  
  
They play with fleeting contact and lingering brushes under the flickering sunlight reflecting off the drifting dusk speckles like glitter. Eyes flit to each other and breaths mingle as they reach deeper into each other's space. Time might as well not exist, nor anything else outside of this room, and it feels just right, like the stars have aligned to gift them with this perfect moment that Louis feels undeserving of.  
  
Until his alarm goes off, startling them both and breaking the spell.  
  
"I have to go to work," he remembers.  
  
Harry nods, though his lips are pursed in a small pout as he continues trailing the outlines of Louis' veins with his fingertips.  
  
"When will you be back?" he inquires quietly without looking up, a neediness in his tone that puts Louis at ease with his own desperation.  
  
"Around five, I hope. We'll see what Nick says."  
  
"Alright," he murmurs and leans in to press a kiss to Louis' cheek.  
  
He laughs softly at Louis' stunned expression when he pulls away.  
  
"Go," he encourages with fond exasperation and gives Louis a playful shove that almost has him toppling off the couch in his daze.  
  
When he's alone in the bathroom, the turmoil in his mind gains momentum again. He defies it, though, and instead focuses on the simple mundane tasks of shaving, showering and brushing his teeth with unwarranted determination.  
  
Clad in a towel he makes his way to his room, hesitating at the entrance. With a sigh he pushes the door open and makes a beeline for the closet without looking at anything else. He picks out a set of clean clothes from the back of it and returns to the bathroom to get dressed.  
  
At last he fixes his hair and then he's done. Looking at his reflection in the mirror he realizes he feels a bit more human now.  
  
He finds Harry doing something akin to a headstand when he comes back into the living room. He lets his eyes linger on his strained muscles just for a moment before he reverts them and clears his throat.  
  
In an atypically graceful swing Harry gets back on his feet and grins, sweeping back the curls that have fallen over his face.  
  
"Impressive," Louis comments, trying to sound unaffected.  
  
"Thanks." He walks over to him, his grin melting into a tender smile as his eyes travel across Louis' body, a glint to them that makes Louis feel like he knows something he doesn't. He lifts a hand to swipe a gentle finger over his now smooth skin. "You look nice."  
  
Louis doesn't acknowledge the comment for fear of blushing. "Feeling better today?" he asks instead.  
  
Harry nods. "You?"  
  
"Yeah," he admits, barely louder than a breath, and doesn't allow himself to dwell on the thoughts that come with it.  
  
Harry reaches for his hand, pries away his fingers from where he'd been picking at his nails. "Come on, tea's ready."  
  
He drags him to the kitchen where two cups are sitting on the small round table and perches on the stool across from him, eyes alight with subdued excitement.  
  
Louis wants to ask him what's gotten into him, but he sort of doesn't want to know.  
  
He sits down, wraps his hands around the steaming cup. The heat that tingles his palms does little to chase away the cold imposed by the distance between them. It's silly, but he can barely contain himself from stealing back into Harry's space. He interlinks their feet under the table and tells himself that's enough.  
  
Harry hides his responding smile into the cup as he takes a sip of his tea. His crinkling eyes give him away, making a sliver of warmth unfurl in Louis' chest.  
  
"Good luck today," he says suddenly when he lowers the cup.  
  
"Thanks," Louis murmurs, staring at the steam rising from between his clasped hands. "What will you be doing?"  
  
He catches him biting back a smile when he looks up.  
  
"I have an audition of a sort," he starts explaining. "Ed got me in."  
  
"Ed... The guy who plays with you at Bel Canto?" Louis recalls.  
  
"Yeah," he confirms, pleasantly surprised. "It's for a gig in a bar. It'd be nice. Different."  
  
"A bar? Will they even let you in?" Louis teases half-heartedly. He used to be funny, used to make Harry laugh till he couldn't breathe. He misses it, can't find it in himself anymore.  
  
"Ed says my age won't be a problem if I'm good enough. We'll see." He stirs his tea, his crooked smile humble and hopeful.  
  
Louis takes a sip, relishes the scalding liquid burning down his throat. He meets Harry's eyes with caution. "Good luck, love," he murmurs, earnest and frightened by it.  
  
The smile that tugs at the strings of Louis' heart widens. "It's nice to hear you call me that again."  
  
Shameful eyes flit away and hands tighten their grip on the cooling cup. He focuses on breathing evenly, wills himself not to feel.  
  
The silence drags. He can't bring himself to move, afraid that he'll find Harry's too observant eyes trained on him, counting the cracks in his façade.  
  
Tiredness descends upon him though the morning is still fresh.  
  
"I should go," he whispers. Continuing the conversation seems dishonest when his mind has sunk somewhere else. The shadows come crawling back, settling heavy upon his shoulders and draping over his eyes like curtains that keep the light at bay.  
  
Whether he fights it or not, the outcome is the same.  
  
"Okay," he hears Harry respond as he's walking away, voice gone quiet and resigned.  
  
***  
  
He works until his eyes threaten to pop out from the pressure of the headache, back aching and wrists gone numb over the keyboard. He doesn't take a break, not even when the office empties out around noon and his phone rings.  
  
It's Nick who finally ushers him out, on a brink between proud and concerned. Louis deflects all attempts at conversation and makes his way home with a cigarette between his lips.  
  
He falls into Harry's arms as soon as he crosses the threshold.  
  
"So tired," he whimpers and it has nothing to do with his physical state. He feels inexplicably close to tears.  
  
"Sleep, Lou." The words float down on him like snowflakes when he's collapsed on the couch, hiding his face into a pillow. He feels a blanket drag up his back and a kiss press into his shoulder. "I'll be back soon."  
  
Mourning the shred of hope that kindled within him that morning and dwindled just as fast, he succumbs to sleep before he hears the door close.  
  
***  
  
The mattress dips, the blanket lifts and falls again letting the chill in and a body presses against his back.  
  
"No," he mumbles, eyes closed and face scrunched up like he's in pain.  
  
"It's me," a hushed voice reaches his ears, arms wrapping around his waist.  
  
His eyes snap open and he turns to his other side to find Harry looking back at him in the dark. Shivering, he lets him tug him closer, hides his face into his chest. He smells like cheap cologne and strawberry shampoo.  
  
"Haz," he whispers, pleading without knowing what for.  
  
He puffs out shaky breaths against his shirt, fists at the fabric.  
  
"It hurts," he whimpers. It's late and dark and he can pretend he never said anything in the morning. "I don't know what it is but it hurts so bad. Make it stop, Haz. Please, just make it stop."  
  
"Oh, Lou," he sighs. He rubs his back in gentle circles and sways him slowly side to side in his hold. "I'm so sorry."  
  
He keeps murmuring into his ear, small soft words in the rhythm of the sways, until he's lulled back to sleep.  
  
***  
  
Louis hasn't come in two weeks. Body coiled tight and immersed in a mixture of caffeine and nicotine to keep from snapping, a clarity to his mind and too much time on his hands, he types up drafts, revises and polishes them for long hours and through the tremors in his hands, until he can barely hear the sizzling of his frazzled nerves. The weekends come as undesirable breaks in the efficient routine, throwing him off balance, but Harry's grounding presence never fails to catch him.  
  
It's a Sunday, the sun high up on the clear sky, the air warm as it grazes their skin and ruffles the leaves above their heads. Louis leans against the thick trunk of the maple tree, the ridges of the bark rough against his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt as he sits cross-legged on the spacious blanket Harry's spread out for them atop the vividly green grass. His hands are folded in his lap, fingers twitching restlessly as he feels imaginary stares of passers-by on him.  
  
It's a lovely park, buzzing with life and the calming shades of green under the bright weather, but the wide open space and distant echoes of laughter and chatter make him feel exposed, the anxiety gripping and spreading through his muscles in spasms.  
  
He lights up a cigarette and sets determined eyes on Harry who's currently picking through the contents of his messenger bag. His hair is up in a messy bun, a serene smile playing on his lips. He's wearing a sheer floral patterned shirt, unbuttoned halfway, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The tight black jeans show off his long slender legs. Complete with the pointed worn out boots that reach his ankles, it's a quirky look that he pulls off astoundingly well.  
  
He propels something round out of his bag and towards Louis whose hands snap up on reflex to catch it, the cigarette hanging between his lips.  
  
"An apple?" he questions flatly as he rolls it between his palms, observing the red peel tinted with yellow. "You've tricked me into a picnic."  
  
Harry's laugh rings amongst the chriping of the birds.  
  
"It's nice, though, isn't it?" His eyes twinkle under his lashes.  
  
Almost, Louis thinks. "Yeah," he says. His smile is miniscule but sincere as he twirls the apple by the petal and takes the cigarette into his other hand to flick off the ashes. "It is," he exhales through the smoke.  
  
Bag set aside, Harry sprawls flat on his back, ankles crossed as he nips on his own apple, head resting on his arm beside Louis' thighs. Intricate shadows of the branches above decorate the smooth skin of his chest, a nipple peeking out of his open shirt.  
  
Louis watches him in silence as he toys with the intact apple in his lap after he's finished his cigarette, watches his long fingers untangle the cords of his earphones when he's done eating. He offers an earbud to Louis with an everpresent smile on his face. Their hands brush as he accepts it and his skin continues to tingle long after he's slipped the bud into his ear.  
  
Peaceful strumming of a guitar fills the silence. He doesn't know the song and can't distinguish much of the lyrics, but the calm flow of the melody eases the commotion of his stomach.  
  
"Better eat that before the sparrow gets it." Harry's knuckles nudge Louis' knee before pointing to the small bird hopping near the edge of their blanket.  
  
"I doubt that sparrows eat apples."  
  
The bird tilts its head toward him as if to disprove the statement.  
  
Harry hums contemplatively. "We should put that theory to a test."  
  
Louis extends his hand toward the bird, cradling the apple in his palm. "There you go, little guy. Have a taste."  
  
The bird's wings flap for a moment, startled, but it doesn't take flight, and instead hops closer on thin twig-like legs. It pecks at the apple, the beak leaving an indent in the peel.  
  
Harry lets out a victorious whoop that has the bird flying away on fast fluttering wings. "I was right."  
  
"That hardly counts as eating," Louis comments while inspecting the mark on the apple.  
  
"Let me see," Harry demands, lifting himself on his elbows, eyebrows drawn together as if considering a matter of the utmost importance. "I beg to differ. There's clearly a chunk missing."  
  
"That doesn't mean it's inside the bird's stomach. We'd have to dissect it to be sure."  
  
His mouth falls open in outrage before he slaps Louis' thigh. "That's awful." His eyes sparkle with mirth, though, and a chuckle shakes his chest as the corner of Louis' lips lifts into a smirk.  
  
" _Can I be close to you_ ," the chorus hums into their ears, making Louis bow his head as his eyes crinkle with the supressed smile.  
  
A content sigh tumbles from Harry's mouth as he drops his head into Louis' lap and looks up at him unapologetically.  
  
"Is that what you hide in your bedroom? Dissected birds?"  
  
It should be a painful subject, should make unease curl around Louis' insides, but Harry jokes with it like it's nothing and for some reason that makes it okay.  
  
"I'm afraid I'll have to kill you now that you've figured it out." He cards his fingers through Harry's dark locks, rolls the hairband off and spreads the long strands of hair over his thighs.  
  
"I can keep a secret," Harry reassures him through a short laugh, leaning into the touch. "I have plenty of them myself."  
  
"I'm sure you do, princess."  
  
He giggles at the endearment, a high pitched sound uncharacteristic for his deep voice that has him widening his eyes and slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle it as his shoulders tremble against Louis' legs.  
  
The corners of Louis' lips twitch again, hopelessly endeared.  
  
His cheeks are tinted red when he lowers his hands, mouth stretched into a delighted grin as he keeps looking up at Louis, his head a warm weight pressing into Louis' thighs and making his skin burn from the closeness.  
  
"I wanna take a picture of you." His voice is hushed like it's one of his secrets he's letting slip out. "Can I?"  
  
"Not a chance." Louis' lips remain tilted into a smile, though, unbothered by the proposal.  
  
Harry's lips are plump and soft looking, a heady red as he pouts.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Fine," he huffs. "Guess I'll have to stick with writing a song then."  
  
Louis twirls a strand of Harry's hair between his fingers, thoughtful. Heat blazes his skin as sunlight breaks through the treetop, the sound of the crickets in the distance amplifying the sensation.  
  
"Is that what that notebook you always carry around is for? You write songs?"  
  
Harry shrugs coyly, averting teasing eyes. "Maybe."  
  
"A secret, is it?"  
  
"A princess' secret."  
  
Louis doesn't remember the last time he actually laughed, but he laughs now, an embarassing squeak of a sound, his stomach muscles rippling and head falling backwards against the tree.  
  
"Where's your tiara, princess?" he teases as his chuckles dissolve.  
  
"I lost it," he murmurs in a mournful tone that clashes against his dimpled smile.  
  
"That's a shame. I suppose we'll have to get you a new one."  
  
His searching gaze lands on a couple of nearby daisies and he leans over to pluck them. Harry cranes his neck to see what he's doing and giggles again, the sound akin to the chiming of bells, when he sees Louis stringing the white flowers together before tangling them into the curls atop Harry's head.  
  
"There," he exhales, the teasing lilt in his voice replaced by something wistful and breathless as he takes in Harry's rosy cheeks and shining eyes, the flowers that soften his features further make him all the more enchanting and ethereal.  
  
He drags a fingertip over the firm line of Harry's jaw, his own pupils dilating when Harry's lips part on a gasp at the skimming touch, glistening wetly under the sunlight.  
  
A fire flickers behind Harry's gaze that never leaves Louis' face as he turns his head to the side, nuzzling his thigh, so close to his groin that Louis feels as if all the nerve endings in his body spontaneously combusting. His hand tightens in Harry's hair, pulling unintentionally and making Harry's eyelids flutter.  
  
That's how it's come to be between them, it seems. The newly discovered banter, laughs and comfortable silence, laced with an edge of something darker Louis can't seem to escape. And Harry keeps taunting, courting fire.  
  
He never pushes when Louis draws back, but a jarring longing lingers in his eyes, and as unsettled as Louis gets, he only regains balance when he leans back into his touch.  
  
Noting the tension in his posture, Harry lifts into a sitting position, the earphone cord not letting him get too far away.  
  
"Are you nervous about Friday?" Louis asks, voice wavering just a little. He draws his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, aiming for an illusion of shielding himself but feeling smaller still as he tilts his head up to look at Harry.  
  
"Not yet," Harry chuckles as he adjusts his flower crown with delicate fingers.  
  
Tentative notes of a bittersweet piano piece trickle into the silence between tracks. Louis glimpses at the phone lying on the blanket by their feet but the screen has gone black, no display of a title.  
  
"Got big dreams, do you?" he wonders absentmindedly, a peculiar sort of sadness tugging at his chest as he picks at the lint of the blanket.  
  
In his periphery he sees Harry give a noncommital shrug.  
  
"Just doing what I love when I get the chance."  
  
He makes it sound so simple.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"Do you have dreams?"  
  
And there it is, an inch left off the centre of his chest, a pointed ache reaching deep through a gap between his ribs.  
  
"No."  
  
"Nothing wrong with that," Harry agrees easily, brushing the heaviness off Louis' shoulders. "I prefer taking it day by day, too."  
  
Louis admires the subtle wisdom in the simplicity of his philosophy, immensely proud of the man he's been shaping into while Louis' been too self-absorbed to notice.  
  
With a gentle smile sent Louis' way, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a banana with a flourish.  
  
"Fancy another snack? Since the mean sparrow has claimed the first one."  
  
"No, I'm... I'm fine," he stutters out, unjustifiably entraced by the motion of Harry's long fingers peeling the banana, his simple steel rings glinting when the light hits them right.  
  
A blush adorns Harry's cheeks, his eyes wide and playful as he opens his mouth and his lips slide down the suggestive length with unnecessary obscenity.  
  
Louis swallows around the lump in his throat, his palm covering his face as he huffs out a strained laugh.  
  
"You're a right menace."  
  
Of course it only makes Harry fucking giggle in delight.  
  
***  
  
"Why did you really come here?"  
  
They're sprawled on the couch after an ample lunch of Harry's making, Louis' stomach uncomfortably full after a prolonged habit of skipping meals. The room is quiet, their eyes heavy and movements lazy, the tv a low murmuring noise in the background.  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry asks, the words flowing from his mouth slow and mellow like honey. His ankles are crossed in Louis' lap, head reclined on the armrest on the opposite side of the couch, his grey t-shirt riding high on his hips, revealing the bare skin above the low waistband of his yoga pants.  
  
"You said you don't want to go back home. Makes me wonder." Louis toys with the phone in his hands, only slightly nervous about voicing his concerns as he eyes the record of a missed call from his mother.  
  
"You don't have to worry about it."  
  
"I want to know," he insists, looking up at Harry who's combing his fingers through his ruffled hair, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he considers the question.  
  
"It's..." he starts uncertainly, takes a deep breath before carrying on, twisting the ring on his middle finger as he speaks. "It feels selfish, but... I wanted to see what it was like, living in the city where there are so many oppportunities. There's no place for a singer in Doncaster."  
  
"What are your plans, after finishing school?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. But I'll have to aim for a more stable career than bumming gigs in bars." There's not a hint of bitterness in his smile.  
  
"That's not all this is about, though."  
  
He looks up, lips twitching and eyebrows arching in surprise at Louis' perceptiveness.  
  
"No, it's not," he confirms. He's silent for a while, playing with his ring again as he formulates the response in his head, eyes clouding with years old sorrow. "Do you remember when Des threw away all of my mum's belongings?"  
  
"Of course I do." Louis sits up, scoots closer to him, itching to be near as the conversation takes a heavy turn.  
  
He remembers the day vividly. It wasn't long after the wedding, after Harry and his father and Louis' larger family of six had moved into their new shared home. It was a poorly executed attempt at leaving the grief behind on Harry's father's part, another way of committing himself to the new life with his new wife.  
  
It was the most upset he's ever seen Harry get. It was also the day he found out that the boy suffered from asthma, as well as the day they bonded for the first time. Disappointed in his father, distrusting of his stepmother and grieving for his mother, the boy found himself clinging to Louis as he sobbed. And Louis knew better than to try to reason with him the way Des had. He just held him shivering in his arms and let the tears soak his shirt.  
  
"Lately... without you there..." He sucks in a shaky breath. "It's often felt like I'm one of those things. A reminder he needs to let go of to be free."  
  
Louis sets his hand atop Harry's larger one, thumb tracing the cross inked in his skin.  
  
"Jay's pregnant, did you know?"  
  
He looks up sharply, tightening the grip of his fingers. "What?"  
  
"She's carrying twins. Due in November." Harry turns his palm over to link their fingers together, raising hesitant eyes to Louis as Louis huffs out a disbelieving breath, his heart stuttering in his chest.  
  
"Why don't you talk to her?" Harry asks after the silence stretches for a couple of minutes as Louis attempts to quell the conflicted emotions swirling through his insides. Another pair of siblings, but these he won't get to meet.  
  
"She's better off without me," he murmurs, eyes drifting to the other side of the room so he can pretend that no one is listening to his quiet confession. "They all are."  
  
A sad smile twists the corners of Harry's lips. "We're similar like that."  
  
Louia can imagine it, how lonely the boy would get in a house full of people immersed in their own bubble of joy he couldn't quite be a part of. The two of them always had only each other to rely on. Until Louis jumped ship.  
  
He almost apologizes. Almost. But...  
  
"The girls adore you, though. You've promised them you'll be back. I heard you."  
  
Harry glances up, eyes curious until a thought hardens them, makes Louis want to shrink under the determined gaze. "I'd never fully abandon them," he counters decisively. ' _Like you did_ ' remains unspoken.  
  
"Okay," he whispers, throat tight and head lowered in shame.  
  
Harry tugs at his hand, though, beckons him to lie down by his side. They breathe in silence, each lost in his own thoughts as shadows flit across the ceiling when clouds gather to hide the sun.  
  
"I still miss her every day," Harry lets slip out, voice quiet and cracking over syllables he's been swallowing down.  
  
Louis looks up to find his eyes glistening with tears that cling to his eyelashes and tumble from the corners of his eyelids.  
  
"I know." He reaches out, swipes gentle pads of his fingers over the soft damp skin beneath Harry's eyes. "She'd be so proud of you."

  
A single muffled sob rips through his throat at Louis' words, body shuddering around the emotion it can't contain, like a river bank swallowed by the overflowing water. He curls up small to fit in Louis' offered arms and with joined forces they prevail against the tide.  
  
***  
  
" _Oh, so don't pay no mind to my watering eyes... Must be something in the air that I'm breathing._ "  
  
The lazy strum of Ed's guitar in the wee hours of the morning lulls the dim smoky pub into a comfortable drowsiness. Louis is perched on a stool at the bar, sipping at his third glass of beer, just to have something to do with his hands as his eyelids get heavier. Harry's voice never fails to grab his attention, though.  
  
" _Yes'n try to ignore all this blood on the floor... It's just this heart on my sleeve that's bleeding._ "  
  
It's raw, thick with emotion that would have been too intense for the peaceful atmosphere of Bel Canto, each word like a blade so sharp its featherlight touch is almost pleasant as it raises goosebumps on Louis' skin, furtive as it slices through, leaving a trickle of red in its wake.  
  
Harry's caressing the microphone stand with long hypnotizing fingers, a distant look in his eyes. The defined line of his jaw stands out from the shadows as he tips his head back with the higher notes, mouth lopsided and brow scrunched up as bruising beauty bleeds from his throat and soul too old for his body.  
  
" _Oh, so kiss him again, just to prove to me that you can... And I will stand here and burn in my skin..._ " he finishes quietly, the vibrating echo of pain lingering in the air as he thanks the audience and clambers off his seat on the small stage.  
  
After a quick chat with Ed, he's making his way through the small crowd to Louis, oblivious to the stares that follow him, his beam lighting up the room though it's visible in the lines around his eyes that he's still threading the depths of the sadness the song has pulled him under.  
  
"Hey," he drawls as he comes to stand between Louis' bent knees, hands splaying casually atop Louis' thighs.  
  
The sound of the guitar picks up again as another act takes the stage and Louis has to lean in to be heard.  
  
"You were perfect," he murmurs into Harry's ear, carding his fingers through long soft strands of hair as he brushes them away from his face. He breathes in the familiar smell of his cologne, laced with a hint of sweat and cigarette smoke that seeped into his clothes. He smells like home, and it nudges Louis that much closer to just dozing off in the middle of the pub, regardless of the blaring music and the hard edges of the bar stool digging into his flesh.  
  
A pleased hum sounds from Harry's throat, fingers sliding up to curve around Louis' hips. "Thank you."  
  
They sway in the spot to the rhythm of the song, clinging to each other despite the uncomfortable heat of the stuffed air, Louis' skin tingling under Harry's touch.  
  
"You always sing sad songs," he muses, trailing his fingertips up and down Harry's spine over the smooth fabric of his shirt. He wonders vaguely what people make of them when they see them like this, wandering hands and gravitating lips.  
  
" _I cannot conceive of any beauty in which there is no melancholy_ ," Harry readily quotes in response, deep voice carrying all the haunting, piercing loveliness of the words.  
  
Louis rolls the line around in his head, tests its weight and finds it true.  
  
"I like that," he confesses into Harry's pulsepoint, his breath tickling his skin. He's intoxicated by his scent, floating on a different plane of existence where there's nothing but beauty and melancholy, the two melting into each other, wounding his heart and making him smile through the pain.  
  
Too soon, Harry breaks away.  
  
"I have to run to the loo," he explains in a hurried whisper, with a sheepish smile and a gentle squeeze of Louis' shoulder. "Be back in a minute."  
  
Louis watches him disappear from view, turns back to his abandoned glass and circles its rim with a fingertip, sighing against the weight settling inexplicably atop his chest. His knee bounces slowly with the gentle hum of the music. The silence in between lyrics too plain for the soulful melody breeds sentiments too complex to grasp. The sheer notion of existing in this dispersing night, in the company of the trembling strings that speak to his soul in a language he himself can't comprehend, is strange enough to hurt.  
  
He's drumming his fingers against the sticky wooden surface of the bartop, elbows hanging off the edge, when he feels a body press against his back. His lips begin to form into a smile, until the gruff voice reaches his ear.  
  
"I remember you."  
  
He whips around, knocking the glass over. Some of the cold liquid drips onto his thighs, seeps through the worn out material of his jeans. A shiver runs down his spine, and the cold has nothing to do with it.  
  
A hot breath fans over his face, reeking of alcohol. He listens to the deep rumbling sound the glass makes as it rolls back and forth in favour of focusing on the man he doesn't recognize crowding into his space. The stranger's hands come up to cage him and he pushes back against the bar, wishing he could fall through it like a ghost.  
  
"Screamed like a bitch when I fucked you," he slurs, a sneer playing on his lips.  
  
"Get the fuck away from me." Louis knocks his arm away with all the strength he can muster and he's about to leave when he's pulled back by a firm grip on his forearm.  
  
"I wouldn't mind another go." The man licks his lips, eyes hooded as he stares at Louis' mouth. "Your young friend here could join us, too."  
  
Louis turns his head in time to see Harry approach, brow creased and eyes dark as he slings an arm around Louis' waist. Louis' torn between relieved and worried at having him in the middle of this.  
  
"What's going on?" Harry questions, watching the man's arms drop to his side as he releases his grip on Louis.  
  
"I was just suggesting-"  
  
"Not interested," Louis cuts him off, loud and clear.  
  
The man's eyebrows shoot up like he's heard him for the first time.  
  
"Fine," he spits out, mouth twisted in displeasure. "You were friendlier last time," he tacks on as he shoulders past Louis on unsteady feet, emphasising the adjective and making it sound sleazy.  
  
"Let's go home. Please," Louis exhales in a rush, so quiet he can't hear his own voice, but Harry gets it and leads the way with a tender hand on Louis' lower back.  
  
Hands shaking with the pounding of his heart, he lights up a cigarette the second his feet hit the pavement, crumpling the empty cigarette pack in his fist as smoke burns through his lungs. His skin is crawling. He directs the bursts of anger into the forceful strides sounding through the streets under the dark sky. Harry's long legs have no trouble following, though part of Louis wants to leave him behind, just for a chance to hide from his questioning eyes.  
  
It isn't until they're back at the flat that Harry tentatively speaks up.  
  
"Louis-"  
  
He cuts him off by slamming the bedroom door and twisting the lock.  
  
He crosses the room to throw the window wide open, swallowing gulps of fresh air as shudders rack his chest, eyes squeezed shut and knuckles white as they grip the window frame.  
  
Abruptly, he whips around to stare at the shadows that haunt him, the rumpled sheets illuminated by the street lights spilling in around Louis' hunched form.  
  
He rips the bedding off in one swift motion, letting it rustle to the floor, leaving the mattress underneath bare and stained. The contents of the drawers clatter down around his feet, the wind blowing dust into the air. His eyes land on the laptop lying on the bedside table and he resist the urge to smash it against the wall, settling for wiping the drive instead.  
  
Tiptoeing around the mess, he reaches the door. He cracks it open, finds Harry leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. Tired troubled eyes lift to meet his.  
  
"Could you..." He rests his forehead against the doorframe like it's all that's keeping him upright, eyelids fluttering. "Could you pass me a couple of trash bags?"  
  
Harry complies immediately, returning from the kitchen in a minute and pressing the entire roll into his palm.  
  
"Anything else?" he asks, teeth sinking into his lip as he restrains himself from coming closer or asking more questions.  
  
Louis shakes his head, unfocused eyes pointed at the floor. "Thank you," he croaks before the door swings closed.  
  
The first rays of sun are hitting the perspiring back of his neck when he exits the room, hauling three full trash bags with him. Harry's still in the same spot, albeit sitting down this time, hugging his knees to his chest, dark circles under his eyes.  
  
He climbs to his feet, wincing as he straightens his back. "Let me," he rasps reaching for the bags, voice hoarse with exhaustion.  
  
Louis refuses the help with a shake of his head. "I'll be back in a minute." He notices Harry glancing curiously through the bedroom door he's left open as he walks out.  
  
He lingers in the doorway when he returns. The room is brimming with light pouring through the window overlooking the city and reflecting off bare white walls. The bed is made, the sheets clean and fresh, and the floor is a wide clear expanse of shining wood.  
  
It looks like a plain normal bedroom. Clean and tidy. There's nothing hiding in the crevices, nothing tucked into dark corners. No reason to lock the door.  
  
It's not enough.  
  
He can't erase his actions, can't mute the ghosts swimming through his consciousness. He can't collect all the pieces of himself he wants to burn to ashes. Not when he's given them away to so many others, strewn them across the world.  
  
"It's okay." The words arrive with the arms that wrap around his chest from behind to support his weight and still his writhing mind. "Go take a shower and then get some sleep, alright?"  
  
He sighs, long and deep, some of the tension evaporating through the breath. "Okay," he agrees, extracting himself from Harry's grasp with regret to head to the bathroom.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut under the scalding spray, wishing it could wash away the dozens of sets of hands that taint his skin and cling to it like cobwebs.  
  
He drapes Harry's large lavender coloured towel around his shoulders when he steps out of the shower, droplets of water dripping rhythmically from the tip of his nose.  
  
He's still wrapped up in it when he emerges to find Harry sitting on the edge of the couch clad only in boxers and rubbing sleep from his eyes.  
  
"Do you..." He clears his throat, forces himself to meet his eyes as he starts over. "Would you like to sleep in the bedroom?"  
  
Harry stares at him for a moment, wide eyed and stunned. "Sure, if... If you don't mind."  
  
Louis shrugs, expressionless. "No point in not using it."  
  
He lies with his head on Harry's chest, listening to his deepening breaths. Harry's fingers press into his scalp in soothing circles, the movements growing slower as he begins to slip out of consciousness. The air is hot and humid but he likes the way it feels to draw the sheet all the way up to his neck.  
  
With the blinds drawn, the contours of the room look foreign, don't feel like home at all. He tenses each time he glances around and it's only when he closes his eyes and focuses on all the places Harry's body is pressed against his that he manages to loosen his coiled muscles.  
  
"I don't even remember him," he admits aloud when he's almost certain that Harry is asleep.  
  
***

 

Sitting in the waiting room of the doctor's office for almost an hour gives him time to think.  
  
He flicks through the pamphlets proclaiming the importance of safe sex in big bold letters. He bites his nails and jiggles his knees. He stares at the poster above another set of cold metal chairs in front of him. He thuds his head back against the tiled wall.  
  
He still finds it hard to be anything other than apathetic toward his own health. The thought of his actions having repercussions that affect Harry, though... That makes him want to knock some sense into his past self.  
  
He was so stupid to think he could compartmentalize like that, indulge in whatever he wanted without his indiscretions affecting anyone other than himself.  
  
He tries to stifle the scenarios that his mind procures unbidden. What if he's positive. What if _Harry_ is. _Could_ he be. He sighs and wills his mind to shut up.  
  
It is what it is, he tells himself. Whatever it is, it's time to face it.  
  
***  
  
"On an inhale, reach up and over."  
  
Louis relishes the slight burn of the stretch as he follows Harry's instructions, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor across from him. More so than the instrumental music playing softly in the background, the slow rumble of Harry's voice serves to ground him as he battles the tension locking his muscles into place.  
  
It's getting late, the light of the day fading around them and giving the scene a dream-like quality. Despite Harry's reminders to focus on his breathing, he's transfixed by the boy's smooth flowing motions, the elegance of his long limbs when they slice through air with slow precision. Postures melt one into another like it's a prolonged dance routine even as he supplies verbal explanations. His eyes rarely stray from Louis', offering silent encouragement.  
  
His smile is radiant, fueling Louis' movements as well as his general existence over the course of the past few days. Whenever his will begins to dwindle and even getting out of bed in the morning seems like too much of a chore, it's that smile that rekindles the spark.  
  
"Back to center as you exhale. And then slowly lower onto your back."  
  
There's something oddly comforting about feeling the hard surface of the floor against the full length of his body. He's surprised to notice and enjoy the little details in the practice after the inital reluctance and self-consciousness.  
  
"Hug your knees to your chest. Maybe close your eyes and rock a little side to side."  
  
As he does, he gets a better understanding of the low noises of satisfaction Harry had made earlier during a particularly deep stretch. It was baffling, and sufficiently distracting, but he can see it now, how some of these things could feel pretty good.  
  
"Comfy, isn't it?" Harry asks cheerfully, breaking out of his yoga instructor act.  
  
Louis hums in response, sleep tugging at his eyelids and an almost forgotten sense of contentment spreading from the centre of his chest down to his fingertips.  
  
He's reluctant to move after Harry announces the end of the session, his eyes closed and limbs spread wide.  
  
"So, how'd you like it?" Harry sounds excited to question. "I hope I kept it light enough for a first practice."  
  
"Couldn't be easier," Louis assures him without opening his eyes. "It's nice. Can hardly call it an exercise, though. Didn't break a sweat."  
  
***  
  
"I'm dying."  
  
Harry's laughter is a loud sharp squeak that shatters into muffled giggles as he watches Louis slump back onto the bed with a moan.  
  
"Asshole," Louis mutters, kicking him in the shin in retaliation before groaning again at the dull pain that the movement triggers.  
  
Harry coos in sympathy this time, though the corners of his lips are still twitching, and reaches out to card his fingers through Louis' hair.  
  
Louis leans into the touch, eyes slipping closed. "I'm not getting up today," he murmurs, tugging the covers back up over his body.  
  
"Thought you said it couldn't be easier," Harry can't resist to tease.  
  
Louis would kick him again if literally every movement didn't make him feel like his muscles are being torn apart. "You're mean," he settles for saying and pouts exaggeratedly.  
  
He whimpers in protest when Harry pulls him closer but snuggles against his bare chest nevertheless. Rain is pattering softly against the window and he's warm and comfortable in Harry's arms, has nowhere to be today. It's the closest to happiness he's ever going to get, he thinks.  
  
He still gets a little disoriented waking up in the now redecorated bedroom but it's starting to feel like home. There's a scented candle on the bedside table and a flower pot in the corner, a brightly coloured painting hanging on the wall above the bed and new curtains adorning the window. Louis never comments on it but secretly loves it whenever Harry adds little touches to the room to make it more his.  
  
They share the bed each night, soft touches and quiet conversations before they fall asleep tangled together. He often wakes up hard, pressed against Harry's thigh. He ignores the devilish smirk Harry gives him when he notices and takes a cold shower, refusing to give in to the urges he's come to despise.  
  
They never talk about what it means. All Louis knows is that he doesn't want Harry to leave. Anxiety gnaws at him as September draws closer but neither of them mentions it.  
  
"We can stay in bed if you want," Harry offers quietly, voice still sleepy and hoarse.  
  
"Mhm," Louis agrees without opening his eyes, Harry's hand in his hair lulling him back to sleep.  
  
***  
  
He holds onto the metal railing as the floor of the deck sways beneath his feet, the wood slippery from the drizzling rain. The cold wind cuts through his clothes and pinches at his skin. Harry is pink cheeked and shivering next to him, huddling into his side with a serene smile as they glide through the rippling river.  
  
He might as well be seeing the city for the first time, he thinks as he watches it pass them by, grandiose and alive, with a personality of its own shining through the classical architecture. Devoid of colour under the thick clouds and smog, it gives the impression of cold elegance, aristocratic beauty with all the loneliness of a modern metropolis.  
  
They've chosen a boat that offers no commentary from guides and adds to the atmosphere instead with the soft tinkling of classical music. Most people have retreated from the deck to get out of the rain, leaving them alone to enjoy the moment, pressed close and elbows linked together.  
  
They don't talk. The soft glances speak for themselves.  
  
When they reach the shore and their feet hit the solid ground again, the rain picks up, threatening to drench them in seconds. Harry's grinning as he grabs his hand and drags him along as he runs for shelter.  
  
Louis almost feels alive as he sprints through the street, splashing through puddles and clenching Harry's hand for dear life when he slips, the raindrops cooling his flushed skin. The sound of Harry's laughter warms his insides, his childlike appreciation for the simple things staggering to Louis' jaded mind.  
  
They end up under the vault in front of a seemingly abandonded store. They stand facing each other, their panting audible even over the pounding of the rain on the makeshift roof above their heads.  
  
Harry shakes out his hair like a dog, earning a scoff from Louis when some of the drops land on his face. He grins unapologetically and steps closer, making Louis walk backwards until his back hits the brick wall.  
  
Louis' heart is in his throat when he looks up. The playfulness slips away and Harry's eyes darken with a slow burning hunger, body visibly thrumming with nervous energy.  
  
A single finger hooks under Louis' chin to tilt his head up, stealing his breath away.  
  
He hears Harry's shaky inhale before his lips land on Louis', plump and soft, sending jolts of electricity down his body till his knees are ready to buckle. Louis' eyes slip closed and hands come up to grip Harry's shoulders in an attempt to ground himself as their lips brush once, twice and then Harry's pulling away just as softly, like he doesn't dare test his luck any longer.  
  
He opens his eyes to find Harry staring back at him. It's like waking up from a dream, his head fuzzy and light, fingers twitching on Harry's shoulders. Harry's hands slide down to his waist, slow and careful, his gaze intense and never straying from Louis' face as he waits for a reaction.  
  
All Louis can seem to do is blink and attempt to breathe. He thinks he might be trembling. Other than that his mind is blank, going into shock as if he just got electrocuted instead of kissed.  
  
"Lou?" Harry calls out quietly to get his attention.  
  
He expects the worry but not the kindness he finds in Harry's eyes when he meets them again.  
  
"Why?" he asks. It's the only question on his mind, running on a loop.  
  
Harry's brow creases in confusion, thumb rubbing circles against Louis' hipbone.  
  
"Why did you do that?" he clarifies, his heart pounding so hard he imagines it leaping out of his chest like in a cartoon.  
  
"Did you mind? I'm sor-"  
  
Louis silences him with a push against his chest.  
  
"Tell me why. Why would you want to do that?"  
  
Harry's eyes widen at his outburst. "Louis, what-"  
  
"I don't get it, Harry. Tell me why. What does it mean?" He's beginning to ramble, taking on a desperate tone and probably sounding as crazy as he feels. "I don't get it."  
  
He wants to collapse into the puddle beneath his feet, too tired to bear the weight of the storm brewing inside him. So when Harry opens his arms as if he can read his mind, he crashes into them gratefully.  
  
"Just wanna be close to you," Harry murmurs into his ear as he holds him against his chest. "That's all. You're so lovely, Lou, you've no idea. Wanna be with you all the time. But only if you want me to, yeah?"  
  
"I don't want you to kiss me," he admits as he hides his face into the crook of Harry's neck.  
  
He feels Harry stiffen against him, silent for a moment.  
  
"Okay," he says at last but it sounds like his throat is closing up. "Okay, I won't if you don't want me to."  
  
"It's wrong," he continues, the words stilted like he's mumbling them in his sleep.  
  
Harry pulls away to look at him, frowning at his words. "Why would it be wrong?"  
  
"I don't want to hurt you."  
  
A hand comes to Louis' chin again, coaxing him to tear his gaze away from the wet ground.  
  
"You're not hurting me," he insists, eyes boring into Louis'. "It's not about hurting anyone. Quite the opposite, actually." He smiles softly, brushing his knuckles against Louis' cheek.  
  
Louis knows his perception is skewed, but he can't help the dread coiling in his stomach at the thought of dealing with it. He sighs, shaking his head in a silent plea for Harry to let it go.  
  
"I'll show you," Harry promises gently, "whenever you're ready."  
  
With that he takes hold of Louis' hand and guides him back under the now clearing sky and towards home.  
  
***  
  
It's later when he wakes up sometime in the middle of the night that he allows his thoughts to drift freely.  
  
Harry's pressed against his side, deep breaths fanning his shoulder and an arm slung around his waist, a blanket protecting them from the late summer chill that has crept into the room.  
  
' _It's not about hurting anyone_ ,' he said. How naive.  
  
Louis remembers how desperately he waited for it to be over whenever Mark slipped into his bed while Jay was sleeping. Hating it but convinced he's supposed to put up with it. Going through the day like nothing was wrong and going to bed with a twisting stomach and twitchy hands. He didn't have a name for it, didn't know who to blame. His mother never said a word so it couldn't be as bad of a thing as it felt, right?  
  
Years later, when Mark had already vanished from his life and Louis was balancing school and taking care of the girls while shielding them from their mother's meltdowns and the fact that they could barely scrape up enough for food every day, he knew what it was he saw in his nightmares but attributed it to wild imagination rather than echoes of things he'd actually lived through. It couldn't have happened to him.  
  
When Des came along, a smile was not such a rare occurence on Jay's face anymore and a lot of the weight was lifted from Louis' shoulders. Harry was there to distract him when he had enough time on his hands for his mind to slip back to what haunted him. It wasn't important. Nothing to dwell on.  
  
It was once he went away for uni that the memories he'd kept tucked away for so long broke the surface and swallowed him whole.  
  
With a deep breath and a clear mind, he lets himself acknowledge that it is real. He lets the fact wash over him and settle in his bones as Harry's arm tightens around him as if he can feel his distress.  
  
Looking at the boy sleeping by his side, he admits to himself just how bad it's been and dares to hope it can get better.  
  
' _It's not about hurting anyone._ ' Well, it's not supposed to be.  
  
"Haz," he whispers into his ear. He traces a finger over his collarbones until the tickling sensation coaxes him awake.  
  
Harry blinks, drowsy eyes focusing on Louis. "Y'alright?" he asks in a voice hoarse from sleep, long fingers curling around Louis' hip.  
  
Without a word, Louis leans in and catches his lips into a kiss.  
  
Harry's hum of surprise turns into a moan as he kisses him back, mouth hot and wet. He arches into Louis' body, nails digging painfully into his hip. The slide of their lips together has Louis' skin tingling, blood rushing and cheeks heating. Each sensation is electric and nerve-wrecking, making it hard to believe they've done this, and more, before. Every time they kiss feels like the first time.  
  
They're both panting when they part, staring at each other wide eyed.  
  
"Alright," Louis replies belatedly, his voice quiet and breathy, hesitant fingers dropping from Harry's shoulder to his waist so they're mirroring.  
  
A grin splits Harry's face and his eyes light up with infectious joy.  
  
***

 

 

  
  
  


III.  
_dependence, n. - the state of requiring the aid or support of another_

 

 

  
Nothing changes, apart from the fact that now in the moments when Harry's loveliness has his chest ready to burst with the feelings erupting inside, there's something to channel that energy into. So yeah, he supposes he gets the point after all.  
  
***  
  
Louis' eyes stray from the cooking show playing on tv down to where Harry's sitting on the floor between his feet. He's watching the show quietly, probably tired after a long performance, cradling a warm mug of tea to his chest. Louis cards his fingers through his luscious curls, letting them spill across his thighs.  
  
He finds the softness irresistible, doesn't think about it before he's separating the hair into thinner strands and looping them through each other.  
  
"Are you braiding my hair?"  
  
Louis definitely doesn't blush. "I might be." He doesn't stop.  
  
"I like that."  
  
"I'm sure you do, princess."  
  
He doesn't need to look to know that Harry's smiling bashfully, cheeks tinted pink. For some reason it reminds him of the knickers he's seen him wearing, the pink lace framing the milky skin of his hips. The image has him feeling hot all over.  
  
"I'm an expert on braiding, really." He pushes down the thoughts making his trousers tight. "French, fishbone, waterfall... You name it, I'll do it."  
  
Harry muffles his delighted giggle with the back of his hand. "Guess I'll have to try them all out."  
  
Louis hums in agreement. "And they'll all look lovely on you."  
  
"The girls used to love it when I did their hair," he murmurs into the comfortable silence after a while, fingers still threading the waves of chocolate coloured hair.  
  
If Harry's surprised by him mentioning his sisters, he doesn't let it show.  
  
"Especially for birthdays," he continues, "back when we couldn't afford to take them to a hairdresser. I must have gone through dozens of tutorials, hours of practice for each new style until I could get it right."  
  
He smiles fondly at the memories before sobering up. "Who would have guessed I'd end up being such a shit brother."  
  
Harry turns around, his hair slipping from Louis' fingers.  
  
"Don't say that," he admonishes gently, "You'll work it out. You will."  
  
Louis doesn't want to think about working it out, but he lets Harry take his hands into his. "Tell me about them," he requests quietly. "How are they doing?"  
  
Harry smiles like he's proud and despite the exhaustion lingering around his eyes, he talks until the sun is ready to rise.  
  
***  
  
His eyes snap open in the dead of the night, heart hammering, the covers around him drenched in sweat.  
  
' _This is your chance to learn. You'll need this someday._ '  
  
He's numb, staring unseeingly at the shadows dancing across the ceiling as the echoes of the nightmare flit through his consciousness.  
  
' _Now be a good boy and open your mouth._ '  
  
A hushed whisper was enough to make him obey. None of the screamed pleas ever made it past his throat. His voice wouldn't sound, his limbs wouldn't move. He was reduced to a puppet on a string by an unknown force that had crept into his mind unnoticed and took control.  
  
He wonders what Mark thinks of it. If he believes he did nothing wrong. If he wanks to the memories. If he hates calling himself a monster as much as Louis hates calling himself a victim.  
  
Louis doesn't want to think and doesn't want to feel, but even as he presses against Harry's side and finds comfort in inhaling his sweet scent, his thoughts continue to run, dabbling into the wounds he's only recently acknowledged.  
  
He shudders against the urge to strip off his skin. The movement prompts Harry to wrap his arms around him, keeping him safe against his chest even in his sleep.  
  
***  
  
A bad night leads to a bad day. He feels like dying from the moment his alarm startles him awake.  
  
"Lou." Harry nudges his shoulder when Louis continues to stare at the wall with vacant eyes, ignoring the blaring of the alarm. "You have to get up."  
  
He can't get up, can barely breathe when his insides feel like splinters.  
  
"Lou?" Harry's voice is laced with concern as he leans over to peer at Louis' face.  
  
Something is screaming inside him, something ugly and growing, clawing at his bones. He doesn't know how to get it out before it grows too big for his body to contain and crushes him from the inside.  
  
"Talk to me." Harry's gentle whisper tickles his cheek. A hand lands softly on his hip. He wants to shy away from the touch, wants to disappear completely, but he stays still like it's not in his power to make his muscles move.  
  
He's tired of being broken. He'd talk if he could. Perhaps some of the darkness would leave along with the words. But the words are scary and their edges sharp. He can't spit them out without bleeding out.  
  
The next time he blinks his eyes open he's looking at the ceiling though he doesn't remember rolling onto his back. Harry's palm is resting over his heart, his head leaning on his shoulder.  
  
He feels so far away.  
  
"It's okay," Harry whispers into the silence. "Get some rest today. I'll call in sick for you."  
  
He feels insane.  
  
"You don't have to say anything. I understand."  
  
It takes him another hour or so to become slightly more responsive. He tilts his head and meets Harry's eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," he croaks out.  
  
A corner of Harry's lips lifts up. His thumb strokes the centre of Louis' chest. "Don't be."  
  
Despite his protests he gets served breakfast in bed. Chewing is exhausting but every bite he takes makes Harry smile a little brighter so he keeps going.  
  
Eventually he gets sick of lying down and takes up Harry's offer for another attempt at yoga. He's quiet and thoughtful as he copies Harry's slow movements with heavy limbs.  
  
He abruptly eases out of the current posture and plops down on the mat, hugging his knees to chest.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Harry asks in surprise, not hesitating to abandon his practice and sit down next to Louis.  
  
"You asked me once if he hurt me."  
  
Harry nods slowly, not needing clarification on who he means by ' _he_ '. The look in his eyes is intense and his lips are set in a tight line as he observes Louis silently, not daring to disturb the turn of the events.  
  
"He did."  
  
The confession feels too monumental for the room to stay quiet and intact. He expects an explosion to mirror the chaos in his mind.  
  
His hand is trembling when Harry takes it into his.  
  
He opens his mouth again but this time nothing comes out. He wants to explain but he can't just say it.  
  
His gaze drops to the blue mat under them. It's easier to focus on something unimportant.  
  
"Ask me," he says. He needs help getting it out. "Ask me what he did."  
  
Harry seems to understand. "Did he hit you?" he asks, brushing his thumb over Louis' knuckles.  
  
Louis shakes his head. He frowns, eyes still downcast. He thought Harry would get it right immediately. He thought it was obvious.  
  
"Was it, like... yelling and stuff? Did he say mean things?"  
  
Louis shakes his head again, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt.  
  
Harry's quiet for a while after that. It makes Louis wonder if he asked about other things first on purpose, just to be sure.  
  
Maybe it's difficult for him, too. Maybe those words really are scary, not just to Louis, but to everyone.  
  
Harry's voice is a broken whisper when he finally speaks again. "Did he touch you?"  
  
Louis flinches, tearing his hand out of Harry's grasp. He doesn't like how the words sound, wants to shove them back down Harry's throat. He curls up like he's trying to make himself as small as possible, scooting away to the edge of the mat.  
  
"Lou..." Harry sounds like he might be crying but Louis doesn't want to look up.  
  
He shakes his head but this time it's frantic, not an answer but a plea.  
  
He was wrong. There's no use in talking about it. It just makes it worse.  
  
"Lou," Harry tries again. "Can I hold you?"  
  
Louis sighs in relief when he finds himself in Harry's arms. He hides his face in the crook of his neck, letting his warm, tight embrace ease the tension and fear. He breathes deeply until the trembling subsides and his mind clears.  
  
"He did," he admits quietly.  
  
Harry tightens his hold on him, his sniffing confirming Louis' suspicion that he's been crying. "I'm so proud of you for telling me," he says. "And I'm so sorry you had to go through that."  
  
Louis' eyes well up. "It's been so long. Why does it still matter? Why can't I be fine?"  
  
Harry sighs, kisses the top of his head. "It's okay," he coos, the words meaningless but the tone of his voice soothing. "It'll be okay."  
  
***  
  
He tries hard to stay afloat at the office, yet can't help seeing it as a dreadful waste of time when he could be with Harry. Life is too short to spend it staring at a computer screen instead of making pretty boys smile. It tugs on his nerves in ways that are probably not normal as he counts hours, minutes and seconds till he can get off from work.  
  
He breathes a sigh of relief when the number in the bottom right corner of his screen switches to 4 and he practically bolts through the door.  
  
Even as he's walking home, there's a weight in his gut dragging him down. Time is slipping through his hands. There isn't enough to do all he wants to do, to be all he wants to be. He wonders how he's come from craving death to dreading it, but the alternative doesn't feel much better. It's still a frenzied desperation, a poison that taints each waking moment.  
  
There's a rush in his blood when he twists the doorknob and enters the flat. He needs him, needs his touch to ground him, his voice to still his swirling mind and let him breathe.  
  
He sees him huddled under a colourful blanket on the couch, the sunlight spilling through the half drawn blinds catching in his hair. With the relief comes resignation. This wonderful human that is the light of his life deserves more than being a drug to an addict.  
  
He kicks off his shoes and pads barefoot across the living room floor. Harry doesn't lift his head though Louis can see him blinking slowly in the direction of the turned off tv. It's the first thing that tips him off that something's wrong.  
  
He crouches down in front of him to find his eyes red rimmed and swollen from crying.  
  
He lifts a hand to caress his wet cheek. "What's wrong, love?"  
  
It seems to set off another bout of tears as Harry's face crumples and he reaches for Louis.  
  
He gathers him into his lap, making sure he's still tucked in the blanket. His heart plummets further with each sob that rips through Harry's throat, the tears pooling in the dip of Louis' collarbone and Harry's back shuddering under his palms.  
  
He holds him until the exhaustion wins over and the tears cease.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks him gently, stroking his back through the soft material of the blanket.  
  
Harry sniffles. "I called..." he cuts off on a gasp, like he's struggling to breathe.  
  
Louis reaches behind to pluck a tissue from the box under the coffee table and hand it to him. "You sure you don't need the inhaler?"  
  
"I'm fine," Harry insists though he's clearly not. "I tried calling Lottie," he continues after he's blown his nose, hiding his face back into the crook of Louis' neck. "It says the number is not in use. Same with Fizzy and the twins."  
  
"What?" Ice cold dread coils around Louis' spine and drops into his stomach.  
  
"So I dialed Jay, though I've been ignoring her calls lately... cause she's been pissed about what Niall's mum said. And she tells me... to come back home before I embarrass her further... and that she doesn't want me contacting her daughters until I do."  
  
"She changed all of their numbers to keep them from talking to you?" Louis asks incredoulously.  
  
"She thinks I might be a bad influence."  
  
"What is she even on about? What did that woman say to her?"  
  
"Apparently, people are talking, back home. About what's the real reason I'm here. I don't know, it's... She wants it to stop, and I only pissed her off more by ignoring her demands."  
  
"It's not your fault," Louis insists as if on reflex, keeping up the calm exterior though he feels like the ground is slipping from beneath his feet.  
  
"I don't want to go back, Lou," he whimpers desperately, clutching onto the front of his shirt.  
  
"You have to, though. You know that." The painful truth he's been trying to ignore slips from his lips before he can stop it.  
  
Harry shakes his head. "I could have stayed. Could have transferred to a school around here. Des would have let me if I told him I wanted to keep the job. And now she'll convince him not to."  
  
Louis freezes, stunned that Harry had figured it all out while Louis was too busy digging his head into sand. He imagines it for a moment, a glimpse of things working out, feels the twinge of hope before he remembers the possibility has already been torn away from them. He loses him all over again.  
  
***  
  
He's woken up with a kiss. A jolt of panic strikes through the length of his body like a lightning before his mind catches up and registers the lips molding against his as Harry's.  
  
A sigh sounds low in his throat as he reaches up to tug the boy closer, pressing their bodies flush together without opening his eyes. Intoxicated by the slide of their lips against each other and the familiar floral scent of Harry's bodywash, he rolls on top of him, the sheets tangling around their legs.  
  
"Louis," he hears Harry murmur through a moan, hands gripping Louis' sides and knees parting beneath him to let him settle between his legs.  
  
Their cocks press together through thin layers of fabric and Louis' blood sizzles. The shock of it brings him back to reality.  
  
He pulls away, eyes fluttering open as he lifts on his elbows to hover over Harry rather than rest all of his weight on him. They look at each other with dazed eyes, hard breaths mingling.  
  
Harry's hand slips under Louis' t-shirt, nails scraping over his abs, making him shiver.  
  
"Fuck me," he says, his gaze glued to Louis' lips. He sounds almost distracted, like the words slipped out without his permission, his voice deeper than usual, hoarse from sleep.  
  
Louis blinks at him, ridiculously out of his depth as he attempts to process the request with his sleep addled mind.  
  
"Good morning to you, too," he exhales through a laugh.  
  
"I mean it." Harry's eyes meet his, the hand under his shirt wandering higher till a thumb is brushing his nipple.  
  
Louis' fingers curl against the sheets at the sensation, teeth sinking into his lower lip to suppress a whimper threatening to rise from his throat. His heart pounds in a way that can't be healthy, mind spinning with half formed thoughts. It's too early for this.  
  
"Please, Lou." His hips come up to grind against Louis', hands tightening their hold to keep him from moving away.  
  
"Damn it, Harry," he groans, dropping his head onto Harry's shoulder, heavy breaths brushing his skin. "Give me a minute."  
  
They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe. "Sorry," Harry mutters finally, withdrawing his hand from underneath Louis' shirt and letting it rest on his lower back instead. "I didn't mean to-"  
  
Louis lifts his head to look at him with gentle eyes. "You alright?" he asks, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.  
  
The corners of his lips twitch downwards. "I'm scared of what's going to happen," he admits, nervous fingers fiddling with the hem of Louis' shirt.  
  
Louis caresses the unearthily smooth skin of his cheek. "But we're here now, aren't we?"  
  
Something raw and burning unfolds in the depths of his eyes as he stares at Louis, pondering his words. "Yes, we are." His lips melt into a tiniest smile shining with a myriad of emotions.  
  
Louis takes a deep breath, feels the crisp morning air filtering through the cracked open windows fill his lungs and raise goosebumps over the surface of his skin.  
  
Harry drags the covers up and over his shoulders, surrounding him with his warmth. Louis smiles softly, tracing the bare skin of Harry's chest with his fingertips. He feels both of their hearts beating, lungs moving rhythmically with steady breaths, aware of every part of his body that's connected to Harry's. He feels real, feels alive. Everything else just falls away.  
  
A strange calmness washes over him, a sense of gratitude resembling piety. He grasps Harry's hand, lifts it to his lips to plant a kiss on the cross tattooed beneath his thumb.  
  
Maybe it's sick and maybe it's a sin, but this boy lying loving and pliant underneath him is the only altar he'll bow to. He may never be worthy of him but he feels his soul cleanse with each sweep of Harry's warm gaze over the contours of his face, with every touch he emblazes into his skin. He sees himself in Harry's eyes and he's whole and he's good enough and he has something to give.  
  
"Please," Harry whispers against his lips like a secret before he hooks a finger under the waistband of Louis' briefs, waiting for a response with blushing cheeks. "Anything... I just need you." He looks fragile in the morning light, needy for closeness and reassurance and Louis falters for a moment, uncertain how to protect him when he himself is just as lost.  
  
He brushes his lips against Harry's soft and pliant ones, again and again, the sensation so exquisite he longs to drown in it. A sigh falls from his lips as Harry's fingers scratch his scalp and legs come up to hook around his hips, drawing him in.  
  
"Tell me what you want," Harry murmurs as he trails wet kisses down the line of Louis' jaw.  
  
Louis' mouth opens on a gasp as he feels Harry's lips sucking a bruise into the skin above his pulse point. "I don't know." It's scary, knowing how much of him Harry has already seen. Despite his ridiculous amount of experience, this is something else entirely.  
  
He feels Harry's lips stretch into a smile against his neck. His long fingers curl around Louis' ribs, the pressure against sensitive skin not used to contact making him shiver.  
  
"Harry," he whimpers weakly, already overwhelmed.  
  
He doesn't resist when Harry rolls them over, hums as he lands on his back atop the soft sweet-smelling sheets, Harry's weight resting gently on top of him. He lets his hands fall limp on the pillow above his head and his eyes slip shut as Harry carries on feasting on the side of his neck, the swirls of his tongue and the bites of his teeth making him melt into the mattress.  
  
He surrenders, his fear slowly melting away. The more control he gives away the safer he feels when it's Harry's teeth claiming him and Harry's hands holding him down.  
  
"Yeah?" Harry questions again, hopeful but careful.  
  
Louis' eyes flutter open to meet Harry's. "Could you..." He's weary, not in the right state to take initiative where he otherwise would have. And he trusts Harry, inexplicably so. He can't imagine a more appealing concept than letting him take over and make him forget about everything else. "I want you inside me," he finishes breathlessly.  
  
Harry blinks, mouth parting in surprise. "You sure?"  
  
"Positive," Louis assures him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the warm smile he gives him. He wants it all. They can't afford to wait any longer when their time is running out, he realizes.  
  
Harry stares at him in awe, breathless with gratitude. He brushes his knuckles over Louis' cheek, shaking his head like he can't believe that he's real, that he's been given the privilege to handle something so precious.  
  
"Nervous?" Louis asks him gently, noting the slight tremble of his hands.  
  
"Yeah, I-" He sucks in a sharp breath before pressing his lips to Louis'. "Wanna make it good for you," he whispers.  
  
"You will."  
  
Harry is the one who provides the supplies, digging them out of the drawer by his side of the bed and laying them out on the pillow. "I've been hoping," he explains with a cheeky smile and blushing cheeks.  
  
"Have you ever done this before?"  
  
Harry's blush deepens at the question. "Not the actual... No, I haven't." He picks at the hem of Louis' t-shirt, sitting between his open legs.  
  
"I like that," Louis admits, making him smile.  
  
Harry intertwines their fingers as he gazes down at him with gentleness that makes Louis feel exposed though he's still fully clothed. He doesn't mind, though. It only intensifies the tingling warmth spreading through his body.  
  
Harry opens his mouth, a tiny crease still etched between his brows, and Louis knows what the question is going to be before his lips form the words. He shuts him up with a kiss. He doesn't want the concern, the caution. He refuses to be reminded that he's breakable.  
  
Wet lips drag against heated skin, the clothes get pushed out of the way. The pounding of their hearts drowns out the sounds of the waking city as they shiver under each other's gaze.  
  
Louis' legs fall open to let Harry find his place between them again. He doesn't know what to do with whatever it is that's filling up his chest and threatening to overflow. He shudders out a breath into the crook of Harry's neck, holds onto him like the tide is sweeping him away.  
  
"Okay?" Harry's low voice comes to fetch him from where he's floating away.  
  
It feels monumental, each sweep of Harry's fingertips over his bare skin. It's already too much.  
  
He shakes his head, sinks back into the pillows with a frustrated huff.  
  
Harry smiles like it's progress. "Talk to me," he offers, his eyes gentle and knowing, a quiet sadness hiding in the corners of his lips.  
  
"There's too much... noise... in my head." He tries to breathe evenly, tries to gather up the mess of his thoughts, bundle it up into words so that he can hand it over to Harry to make sense of. He's tired of it. And maybe it's not fair cause Harry has his own mess to deal with, but maybe they can trade, maybe it's easier to stand up to demons threatening your loved ones rather than the ones in your own head when you don't have much love for yourself anyway. "It's so stupid, like... I'm trying to enjoy this and there's an existential crisis unfolding in the back of my mind." He closes his eyes, not sure if he wants to see the look on Harry's face right now. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be." He presses a kiss to Louis' forehead, breathes softly above him until Louis opens his eyes. He doesn't ask him if he wants to stop and Louis is grateful. He shuffles to the left, pulls Louis along so they're lying on their sides facing each other. He keeps his hand on Louis' bare hip under the blanket, still close enough that Louis can feel his warmth.  
  
The new position is less overwhelming and Louis finds himself breathing more easily. He leans in, meets Harry's mouth again, eyes slipping shut and hand tangling in Harry's soft curls to keep him in place. Each kiss is a different colour and this one is blue; this one is patience and calm. It's the clear sky peeking through the window over the edge of the tall buildings. It's pretending they can fly.  
  
He lets his hand glide down across the wide expanse of Harry's back, trace the knuckles of his spine. He finds inches of skin he hasn't touched before, discovers how they feel beneath his fingertips, memorizes each dip, sharp edge and fleshier bit he can squeeze into his palm.  
  
Teeth scrap over his lower lip, the colour of red wine spilling into the blue like a dying sun. He groans low in his throat, harsh breaths huffing through his nose and scoots closer until he can swing a leg over Harry's hip.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Harry hisses when their cocks press together, a sweet heat tightening Louis' insides.  
  
Their mouths slacken, exchanging breaths instead of kisses in the shock of pleasure. Louis' hand grips Harry's arm harder, trembling with the force of his heartbeats.  
  
He drops his head to Harry's shoulder as he rolls his hips, heavy breaths hot against Harry's skin. He feels the vibration in Harry's throat before the moan makes it past his lips.  
  
Large hands slide down to cup his arse, knead at the flesh and pull him closer still, the cold metal rings digging into his skin. He bites down on Harry's shoulder in retaliation, smoothing his tongue over the indents in the shape of his teeth right after.  
  
He focuses on Harry to keep his thoughts at bay, explores every little detail as he noses up his neck, inhales his scent and closes his lips around his earlobe. This little corner of him is a universe in itself, enough to occupy him for a lifetime.  
  
It's a lot like when they're doing balancing postures in yoga and Harry tells him to keep his eyes on a drishti, a point of focus, to help him keep his balance.  
  
"You're my drishti," he whispers into the dip of Harry's collarbones, infusing softness into the heated moment. He feels silly until Harry presses a kiss into his hair.  
  
"You're everything," he replies, a smile in his voice and reverence in his breath.  
  
His lips find a way down the side of Louis' neck, tongue traces the shape of his collarbones. He slides further down on the bed, his arm draped over Louis' hip as he teases his nipple with nibbles and flicks of his tongue.  
  
Cheek pressed into the plush white pillow, Louis watches the curtains flutter, catching light. Everything looks soft in the mellow morning, quiet and suspended in time. His mouth parts and body melts under Harry's attention. He threads his hand through his curls, lets them wrap in tendrils around his fingers like chains made of the tenderest of feathers.  
  
The covers slip down, leaving him vulnerable to the chill, but Harry's touch sears and his blood feels like fire under his skin. He squirms under the plump wet lips sneaking into the hollows between his bones, sucking marks into his flesh. He watches Harry's hand grip his bare thigh, his cheek a breath away from the tip of his cock. There's something so intense and intimate about the image he wants to keep it forever.  
  
He hisses when the wet heat of Harry's mouth closes around his cock, his leg hitched over Harry's shoulder. His fingers curl and tug at Harry's hair, eyes scrunch shut and teeth dig into the pillowcase as a groan rips through his throat. It's been so long that each sensation seems amplified ten times over, his pulse fluttering like a hummingbird.  
  
He gasps for breath, muscles buzzing and nerve endings alight as Harry's lips slide over his length. He tumbles toward the edge before he can remember how to breathe. He comes with a shudder and a muffled groan, spilling over Harry's lips.  
  
"Fucking hell," he pants weakly, falling limp on his back under Harry still licking him clean.  
  
He blinks his eyes open, his head hazy like he's just been startled awake. He finds Harry grinning up at him, tongue swiping over his lower lip obscenely.  
  
"Hi," he teases as he climbs up Louis' body until they're at eye level. He tastes sour when they kiss and it's so filthy it makes Louis' stomach flip in arousal even though he's just come.  
  
"I think you've killed me," Louis tells him when their lips part. His eyelids feel heavy, threatening to slip shut.  
  
Harry chuckles quietly, ducking his head to nibble at his throat. "I hope you're aware I'm nowhere near done with you."  
  
"Well aware, what with your cock poking my leg."  
  
Louis smiles fondly when he hears him laugh louder. There's no sweeter sound in the world.  
  
He's all shining eyes and gentle smiles when he lifts his head to look at Louis. "You alright?" he checks, the hand around Louis' waist rubbing soothing circles into his skin.  
  
Louis nods, tilting his head to peck his lips, his arms around his neck.  
  
"Need anything?" he speaks up again and Louis wants to smack him. "Water? Snack break?"  
  
"Oh my god, Harold," Louis laughs. "You're ridiculous."  
  
Harry seems delighted at the insult, grinning so wide that both of his dimples make an appearance.  
  
"Now is not the time to be sweet," Louis continues, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. "You're ruining the mood."  
  
"It's always the time to be sweet," he counters simply before leaning down to kiss him.  
  
The ice in Louis' chest is quiet when it crumbles.  
  
In the infinitesimal distance between their lips a promise flows like honey back and forth, sweet and thick and languid. Louis fits himself around Harry like it takes no effort at all. Each movement serves a single purpose, to spill his love into Harry's mouth, to engrave it in his bones. He can only watch in awe as the feeling blossoms, eyes wide with wander at something so pure growing out of the darkness of his heart.  
  
Dark bruises litter the insides of his thighs by the time he feels the slick pad of Harry's finger stroke over his entrance. He grips the sides of the pillow under his head, eyes dancing between the ceiling and Harry's flushed face between his legs.  
  
Half dizzy, chest heaving and muscles twitching in nervous anticipation, he thinks about moments passed and those yet to come, and this precious one shining between them like a gem washed out on the shore only to be swept back away by the ocean's tide. It blends into a single painting, the entirety of his life, and it's full of pain and laughter. It's a palette of colours ranging from the darkest midnight black to the brightest sunlight yellow. It's huge and it holds a billion details, and some of them are ugly; some of them are terrifying. But when he takes a step back to look at the whole image, his eyes burn. It's so beautiful it hurts.  
  
He meets those hopeful fearful green eyes and feels his lips curve into a smile.  
  
"It's okay," he says and means more than he could ever explain.  
  
A shaky exhale puffs through Harry's lips as his eyes flit down to where he pushes his finger in, slow and mindful.  
  
Louis can't help the soft gasp, the flutter of his eyelids. His heart pounds against his ribcage.  
  
Harry's voice is faint in his ears. "This alright?"  
  
He can only manage a tiny nod, the long finger still sliding in deeper, further than he himself could ever reach, filling him up until his limbs are tingling with it, his skin flushing all over.  
  
Harry backs away, almost all the way out before pressing back in, moving ever so slowly. A whimper rises from Louis' throat though he's biting his lips shut. He's so sensitive he shivers.  
  
"Lou," Harry breathes. He fits so much into a single word. Awe, arousal and a question.  
  
"Feels good," Louis assures him through heavy breaths. "Keep going."  
  
Harry keeps his thrusts steady and gentle, but they turn more exploratory, changing angles, his finger stroking over the flesh from all sides like he doesn't want to miss a thing. His other hand grips Louis' hip to keep him still when he starts squirming, cock hardening and heat pooling in his stomach.  
  
Louis' eyes slip shut, pleasure clouding his senses.  
  
He inhales sharply when Harry pushes in with three fingers and Harry's hand stills immediately in response, eyes widening in concern. He starts to pull out, but Louis reaches down to stop him, wraps his hand around Harry's wrist, holding it still while he breathes through the burn of the stretch. He feels Harry's eyes on him, taking note of each shift in expression and the tension in his muscles.  
  
He spreads his legs wider after a while and guides Harry's hand back into motion, setting a faster rhythm. A moan slips from his lips, head thrown back and mouth dropping open. The sun burns brighter somewhere beyond his eyelids.  
  
"God, you're perfect," Harry whispers, his voice even lower than usual.  
  
His fingers keep reaching, searching, until he brushes over the spot that makes Louis gasp and writhe. He grins, presses into it harder and watches as Louis' back arches and a drawn-out whine sounds from his throat.  
  
"Oh fuck," Louis whimpers when he draws back only to thrust in harder, rubbing over his prostate mercilessly. His groans fill the room and his thighs tremble around Harry, muscles taut and straining as he fights to back away from the sensation and lean into it at the same time.  
  
He's floating away, burning up. Losing grasp on who he is and who he's with, aware only of the sizzling sensations that feed the long supressed hunger for escape. He never wants it to stop. Until he does.  
  
His eyes snap open when he realizes he's falling into old habits. When he realizes that Harry deserves better than someone who gets so lost inside himself that it doesn't even matter who it is sitting between his legs.  
  
"Wait," he gets out through panicked breaths and before he knows what he's doing he's knocking Harry's hand out of the way, curling into himself with an arm over his eyes to avoid seeing the look on Harry's face.  
  
He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.  
  
"Louis?"  
  
He wants to run. Wants to hurt himself for telling him no.  
  
"Louis, please."  
  
His eyes sting from frustration and hands shake with the need to slam into something and watch it break.  
  
"Tell me what you need." A soothing voice reaches him, always understanding, always forgiving. Harry's hand is light on his shoulder.  
  
He growls through a sigh, willing the pins of anxiety to fade from his skin.  
  
His arm drops back into the tousled sheets. "Come here," he says, tugs gently at Harry's ruffled curls until the boy drags himself up the bed, hovering above him, bright-eyed and emitting the warmth Louis shivers for.  
  
"Hi." His smile is kind and his breath touches Louis' lips.  
  
"Hey," Louis replies and feels the weight leave his body along with the word. His eyes flit across Harry's face, taking him in. His mouth stretches into a slow smile. "Hey, love," he says. You're here, is what he means, light with joy and relief. You're mine and I can breathe again.  
  
They kiss like they're weightless.  
  
Louis rolls them over and trails his lips over the entire canvas of Harry's body, until the boy is a giggling breathless mess beneath him. His dark hair spread out over the pillow like a halo around his head, his lips bitten red, his eyes shining like the sun. He's so precious Louis' insides feel like they rearrange themselves and fall back into place.  
  
"I fucking love you, you know?" he tells him.  
  
Harry beams and loves him back, and they kiss like it's enough.  
  
Shadows dance across their naked bodies when the light breaks through the fitful clouds and stumbles over the cracked window, painting dark shapes onto their wind-kissed skin. Hands are clumsy, still learning the curves of their paths, but they leave fire in their wake. It's a quiet hunger, a light burning bright and stripping them raw and vulnerable to each other. Harry's name is the only word Louis' lips remember to form.  
  
Whenever the outside noise reminds them that the world exists, Louis closes his eyes and holds him like he can keep him. Like the moment won't slip through his fingers. Like the stormy seas won't steer their boats in different directions. Like there's no limit to their days and their bones won't crumble and flesh won't rot.  
  
His breath catches when Harry presses him into the mattress and pushes inside in a slow steady thrust. It lights up a spark that travels through his muscles like a spasm, down to his toes that curl into the sheets and up to his fingertips that tremble over Harry's shoulderblades. It spills over his skin that breaks out in goosebumps and wraps around his throat until his chest is heaving and every breath sounds like a whimper.  
  
"Louis, oh my god..." Harry exhales shaking words into Louis' mouth, their foreheads pressed together.  
  
He moves inside him the way he breathes, in sharp bursts that rattle him to the core and seem to take all he's got.  
  
Through hooded eyes, Louis watches his muscles flex and skin glisten under the thin coat of perspiration. His thumb pulls at the soft cushion of his lower lip and his tongue follows, tasting and teasing, smearing wetness over it until it's flushed and gleaming like he's wearing lip gloss.  
  
His legs wrap around Harry's hips to pull him in deeper. The sound of their breathing grows louder, the groans trickling in and meeting in the space between their parted mouths.  
  
Louis feels so full that he forgets the holes in his heart. He meets the intensity of Harry's gaze, the desperation in the depths of his eyes, and thinks that no one has ever come this close to him. It's like Harry's reached into his chest and made a place for himself somewhere in between his heart and his ribs. He's left a scar, but Louis finds that he doesn't really mind. He knows now that not all scars are ugly.  
  
He breathes his moans into Harry's mouth, digs his nails into his back as his heart hammers under the insistent pleasure washing over him. He rotates his hips, chasing Harry's until they fall into rhythm. He kisses Harry's groan away, swallows it and hopes it carries on existing somewhere within him.  
  
They cling to each other, hands scrambling for purchase on hot skin slippery with sweat. They tremble like strings drawn too tight.  
  
The movements grow faster, frantic, shuddering. The sounds rise into the air like smoke, swirling higher until they fade only to be replaced by new ones, until they fog up the room.  
  
Harry looks like an angel in flames. A star exploding. His breath stutters and his grip tightens, pouring his desire into Louis' skin in the form of bruises.  
  
Louis' hand squeezes in between them to wrap around his cock. He hisses, so close he can feel every cell of his body thrumming with electricity.  
  
They press closer, harder. The headboard thumps against the wall in a quick rhythm that matches the dizzying beat of Louis' pulse. He feels his heart throbbing in his fingertips, hears it pounding in his ears.  
  
The world narrows to the green eyes glued to his.  
  
"Harry," he gasps, a plea for something he doesn't know. It keeps building, the heat rising, the muscles coiling tighter. It feels so good it hurts, and as it intensifies, he wonders how much more he can take before his heart gives out.  
  
Like a speeding car nearing a cliff, he shoots over the edge and then he's falling.  
  
He cries out, shudders as he spills over his fingers, helpless under Harry's hungry stare. All of the tension explodes into waves of blinding pleasure that crash over him until he's breathless.  
  
He almost misses the moment Harry's face scrunches up and his hips shudder and still, the loudest groan yet falling from his lips before his arms give out.  
  
Louis' moans dissolve into quiet whimpers as his breathing slows down and the fire in his bloodstream dwindles into pleasant tingling. He sinks back into the pillows, boneless.  
  
Silence settles and the time drags. Fingertips dance over exposed skin, slowly, lazily. Their eyes are wide with wonder when they meet.  
  
There's a serenity in the air, a quiet intimacy Louis' never felt before.  
  
"Love you," Harry murmurs, slurring the words like he's already drifted halfway into sleep. Louis hums in lieu of a response, eyelids heavy and an exhausted smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  
  
They kiss, merely a gentle touch of lips to lips. Louis waits for the despair that accompanies the return to reality, but it never comes. This time, the aftermath is just as sweet.  
  
***  
  
He's cold when he wakes up, curled up under the soft heavy blanket but still shivering. The room is too bright, the sunlight reflecting off the white walls and stinging his bleary eyes. He frowns as he tugs the covers up over his face.  
  
He's alone and an irrational flash of panic surges through him at the realization before he registers the faint noise coming from the kitchen.  
  
He breathes deeply under the fabric restricting his air supply, blinking slowly in the dark. He lets his mind drift back to images of Harry moving shakily on top of him, inside him, his breath hot against Louis' face. His cock stirs but he's more focused on the warmth flowing through his chest like honey.  
  
He moans quietly through a full body stretch, his muscles sore and relaxed. He shivers again, wraps the blanket tightly around his shoulders before pulling himself up and off the bed.  
  
He pads barefoot out of the room, clutching the blanket close to his chest. Harry is leaning against the counter when he peers through the doorway, clad only in black briefs, hair gathered up in a messy bun. The sight of his bare muscled back is as mouth watering as the smell of chips spreading through the air. Music plays softly in the background, something slow, subtle and sweet. He sways in tune as he fills the plates, doesn't seem to hear Louis walking over.  
  
"Hey," he greets quietly as he presses against Harry's back, hooking his arms around his shoulders so that the blanket drapes over them both. His voice is wrecked, throat sore from moaning and he hopes Harry notices, hopes it turns him on.  
  
Harry startles but smiles wide as he looks over his shoulder and leans into Louis' touch. "Hi," he breathes, his grin melting into something softer before he brushes his lips over Louis' and wraps his fingers around the hand splayed over his chest. "It's good to see you."  
  
"It's been so long," Louis teases but his tone remains mellow. Harry is warm against his chest, cuddly and sweet-smelling, and Louis wants to take him back to bed just to wrap around him and never let go.  
  
They sit close, thighs pressed together and arms brushing each time they move. "Hardly a proper meal," Harry says as he hands Louis his plate, "but it's your favourite." The chips are just the way Louis likes them; thin, crisp and salty. He forgoes the fork and makes sure to grin at Harry when he licks the salt off his fingers. They eat in comfortable silence, taking every opportunity to touch, every fleeting contact making Louis' insides flutter.  
  
Everything is soft, the hushed words, their smiles and their fingers when they intertwine. Still, he feels vulnerable, raw.  
  
Later, after they've showered and settled on the couch for a lazy afternoon, he curls into Harry's side, unable to shake off the need for his attention and closeness. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the softness and the warmth, breathes in the rhythm of the fingertips tracing tickling patterns over his skin.  
  
"I wish it could always be like this," he murmurs, lips brushing over Harry's shoulder.  
  
"I know," Harry's reply is quiet and wistful. "Are you alright?" he asks, stroking Louis' back when he hides his face against Harry's neck.  
  
"You ask me that a lot." He bares his teeth, scraps them lightly over Harry's skin.  
  
"I worry a lot."  
  
He pulls back to look at him, his careful eyes and tempting lips. "How are you feeling?" he counters, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and lets his fingers glide down the firm line of his jaw.  
  
"Like I could stay right here forever."  
  
Louis smiles and holds onto the dream that's already slipping through his fingers.  
  
***  
  
"You two are shagging, aren't you?"  
  
Louis almost drops his cup of tea as he whips around to look at Nick. "What?" His voice comes out high and flustered and he knows there's no getting out of it now.  
  
Nick smirks, fixing his tie with strong confident fingers as he steps closer, eyes set on the other side of the room where Harry's chatting with a couple of women from the office, relaxed and grinning like this is where he belongs. He takes a sip of coffee, drags out the silence till Louis' fidgeting. "It's pretty obvious. The looks, the subtle touches. The way you fume when he talks to other people." He licks his lips, still staring disinterestedly into the distance as if he's talking about the weather. "Can't say I didn't see it coming."  
  
"It's none of your business, Grimshaw." Louis tries to keep his cool, but he's vibrating with tension, his words clipped and sharp. His hands tighten around the cup he's holding, the heat doing little to soothe his nerves.  
  
Nick reverts his eyes to him, his neutral expression never faultering. "He talks to me, you know."  
  
He does know. He hates it.  
  
He bites his tongue to stop the questions from slipping out.  
  
He watches Nick lift his hand and lay it on his shoulder, breathes in deep and doesn't shake it off.  
  
"Why so distrustful? I'm just making conversation."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I mean it, Louis." He frowns. "Why do you look at me like I'm an enemy?"  
  
Louis' eyes drift back to Harry, follow the motion of his hand when it threads through long locks of his hair. He observes the brightness of his eyes when he laughs, the way he draws people in, charms them in an instant.  
  
"He's good for you."  
  
The offhand comment is enough to make Louis' stomach clench in anxiety.  
  
"I'm no good for him." He doesn't intend to say it, doesn't see the need to confide in anyone, but there's something about Nick's steady presence that coaxes it out.  
  
Nick shrugs. "Pointless to think about that. He's been in love with you since he met you."  
  
The words ring in his ears as Harry makes his way over to them.  
  
"Hey," he greets and leans into Louis' side, cheeks tinting red when he feels Louis' hand curl around his waist. "What are you two whispering about?"  
  
"Just fawning over your outfit." Nick tugs at the sleeve of Harry's floral patterned shirt. "Fabulous."  
  
Harry gives him an affectionate kick in the shin and Nick snickers as he walks away.  
  
"So," he turns to Louis, lowering his voice. His eyes drift to Louis' lips. "Fancy a walk after work?"  
  
"That'd be nice," Louis agrees, unable to shake off the stupid grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"What about tonight?" He bats his eyelashes, makes a show of biting his lip. "Will you wait up for me?"  
  
Louis laughs though his toes curl in anticipation. "Oh, I will."  
  
***  
  
He stares at the ceiling, sprawled on the couch in the darkness, puffing smoke into the shifting shadows as he waits for Harry to come home.  
  
He can't keep him. It's all he can think about. He can't keep him and he doesn't know how to let go. It's when he's alone that the reality comes seeping in, planting dread in his bones.  
  
But then Harry is back and he can pour his despair into his skin, kiss him until they both forget that the Earth turns.  
  
He's on his feet the moment he hears the key click into the lock, but he crosses the length of the hallway slowly and deliberately, their eyes locked as the energy between them builds up.  
  
Harry is still, watching and waiting. He licks his lips like he enjoys being denied what he wants.  
  
Louis stands as close as he can without touching, the breath of space between them torturous. He brings the cigarette to his lips, sucks the smoke into his lungs before finally curving his hand around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him in and pressing their lips together, exhaling the smoke into Harry's mouth.  
  
Like every drop of poison Louis' offered, he laps it up.  
  
He works the buttons of his sheer black shirt while Louis' arms wrap loosely around his neck, the cigarette burning hot between his fingers, the spirals of smoke rising behind Harry's head. Louis' downcast eyes follow the path of his long deft fingers, taking in the pale skin of his chest he exposes. He slides a hand down, sneaks it under the fabric to circle Harry's nipple with a fingertip.  
  
"Good performance?" he asks, leaning down to nip at Harry's collarbone.  
  
"Not bad." His voice is a bit scratchy, the way it gets after straining it singing for too long. He tips his head back, encouraging Louis to trail his lips up his neck. "Kept thinking about you."  
  
He frees the last button and allows Louis to slide the shirt off his shoulders, tug it down over his arms till it falls to the floor. He kicks off his glittery ankle boots and reaches for the waistband of his jeans. He doesn't seem to mind that Louis is still fully clothed, just watching, the cigarette smoldering in his hand and scattering ashes over the floor.  
  
"What did you think about?"  
  
He hisses when Louis' hand slips into his jeans, pressing into the sensitive skin of his lower stomach and teasing the tip of his cock. "Your hand is cold." He squirms, takes hold of Louis' wrist but doesn't push him away. His breathing grows heavier.  
  
Louis chases his lips, catches them between his teeth and savours his responding moan.  
  
"You like that, don't you?" he teases. "Like it when it hurts?"  
  
"Louis," he whines, presses closer, tugging at Louis' clothes with trembling hands and hiding flushed cheeks into the crook of Louis' neck. "Please..."  
  
Louis' hand catches on something under Harry's jeans. He quirks an eyebrow as he puts the cigarette back between his lips before reaching down with his other hand. He pulls the zipper down to reveal baby pink panties adorned with a bow hanging above the centre where the fabric is taut over Harry's hard cock.  
  
"I can't believe you," he breathes, nearly lightheaded from arousal.  
  
A bashful grin lights up Harry's face. "You like it?"  
  
"Fucking love it," he groans, urging him to take the jeans all the way off as they stumble into the bathroom where he stubs out the cigarette on the edge of the sink and sheds his clothes. Harry leans against the wall, watches through hooded eyes while his fingers absentmindedly toy with the strings of the little pink bow. Face lit in hues of blue, his lips look bruised purple.  
  
Louis crowds him against the wall, naked and reeking of cigarette smoke. His teeth are gentle on Harry's skin, tongue languid as it slithers up his sweat tinged neck. "Missed you," he murmurs, hoping it comes out surer than he feels.  
  
His hands glide down Harry's back to cup his pert arse through the silk-like material, kneading at the flesh to hear him gasp. He has to lift up on toes to rub his cock against Harry's clothed one, his breathing rough against his ear.  
  
"Louis," Harry whimpers, clutching his hips and spreading his legs until he can lift one up and hook it around Louis' thigh.  
  
Louis leads him under the warm spray after he's pushed the panties down his thighs and helped him kick them off his ankles. He spins him around and presses him against the tiles. The water cascades down his back and smoothes out his long curls, his hands flat against the cold wall above his head.  
  
His mouth drops open, breaths heavy against his own shoulder as Louis' soap slicked hands work their way down his body and eventually slide between his cheeks.  
  
His knees almost buckle when Louis' finger enters him but Louis is quick to wrap an arm around his waist to support him.  
  
He moans weakly, leaning his head back on Louis' shoulder.  
  
"How's that?" Louis rasps, holding him tight as he watches him unravel.  
  
"Perfect," the boy gasps, cheeks flushed and eyelids fluttering. "Don't stop."  
  
His moans are a symphony in the acoustic of the bathroom, his voice gaining strength and giving out in waves as he trembles in Louis' arms, fingers slipping against the wet tiles as he attempts to ground himself.  
  
"Louis, please," he sobs after a long while, eyes squeezed shut like he's in pain. Louis marvels the way he hasn't tried to touch his cock once though it's hard and straining.  
  
Louis' fingers just keep moving inside him, the thrusts steady and deep, flicking over his prostate.  
  
"Please," he groans, panting so hard Louis' worried for a moment that he's going to need his inhaler. "I need your cock."  
  
"Shit," Louis gasps, his cock giving a painful twitch against Harry's thigh. He can't get over the way Harry just says things like that and then blinks up at him like an image of perfect innocence. "When we get to the bedroom," he promises. "Need to grab a condom."  
  
"You don't have to, c'mon-"  
  
Louis pulls out abruptly, grip tightening on Harry's hip until he winces and tears away.  
  
He turns around, bewildered. "What-"  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Louis' hands are balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. He breathes hard, but now it's out of anger.  
  
Harry's eyes widen, alarmed and confused as he crosses his arms over his chest defensively. He opens his mouth to speak but Louis doesn't give him a chance.  
  
"You don't know if I'm fucking clean, alright?" he snaps. "You can't just say that like it's nothing."  
  
There's a moment when the words are out when they're both silent, coiled tight with tension and he can't bear to look him in the eye.  
  
He drops his head onto Harry's shoulder. "Don't do that," he pleads, falling quiet and resigned. "Don't be like me."  
  
He feels Harry's tentative hands on his shoulders before he speaks. "I'm sorry."  
  
Louis hates to ruin their night, one of the few they have left, but he can't help walking away, the shame burning hot beneath his skin.  
  
Harry is hesitant when he climbs into bed an hour later and slides under the covers by Louis' side. They stare at each other in the dark, the foot of space between them like an aching hollow in Louis' heart.  
  
"Are you angry with me?" Harry asks, teeth gnawing at his lower lip.  
  
Louis can only shake his head before reaching for him, starved for his warmth and the taste of his lips.

 

Harry pulls away, making Louis' stomach drop. "Lou," he says, hesitant and wide-eyed, "do you really think you might be... you know... not clean?"  
  
"I... I did a lot things that a responsible person wouldn't do. I didn't care what happened to me," he begins, grateful for the way Harry takes a hold of his hand.  
  
"Not anymore, though?"  
  
"No, not anymore. There hasn't been anyone else since... well, since that first night something happened between us."  
  
"Okay," he breathes. His face looks pale under the dim moonlight. "You should get tested," he says decisively. He opens his mouth to say more, ready to spill out arguments, but Louis cuts in.  
  
"I did." He sits up and flicks on the lamp. He squints against the sudden light as he rumages through the drawer of the bedside table before pulling out a piece of paper he received a week ago. He hands it to Harry.  
  
Harry lets out an audible sigh of relief after he's skimmed over the results. He shuffles up to hug him.  
  
"Thank god," he murmurs into the crook of Louis' neck. "Don't ever worry me like that again. I need you to take care of yourself, okay?"  
  
"Okay, love," he whispers back, holding him tightly. "You, too."  
  
Later, when Louis fucks him, it's slow and deep, under the soft blankets and the glow of moonlight spilling in through the open window. He kisses away his broken whimpers and holds him to his chest as they move together, quiet save for the crescendo of their breaths.  
  
They stay curled up around each other long after the shudders and gasps have dwindled, giving way to soft sighs and gentle kisses until sleep takes over.  
  
***  
  
He feels like he's dying, is the thing.  
  
He watches the dimples in Harry's cheeks and the glint in his eyes and he mourns the loss of them already. He wonders how many days he has left to sit by his side on the river bank like this and watch the sun bleed out over the horizon. He watches his hand when it fits around his and wonders how many times he gets to touch him until he can't anymore.  
  
Everything is so much more beautiful when your days are numbered, is the thing.  
  
He could write poems about the sound of his laughter and the rippling of his hair in the breeze. He could watch him sleep for hours and never get bored of the fine lines of his face and the occasional twitch of his lips. He could hold him in his arms for years and it would never be enough.  
  
The thing is... Whether your days pass in gloom or perpetual awe, death always comes.  
  
***  
  
It's a day like any other and nothing gives away that it's the last one they'll get to share.  
  
They get tea in the cute café across the street from Louis' office and munch on blueberry muffins while Harry hums his current favourite song and Louis teases him because it's perfectly soppy and obviously about him. Louis works while Harry meets up with Ed for a writing session he's been talking excitedly about for days. They meet back at the flat in the afternoon and they have two hours to spare before Harry has to be at Bel Canto so Louis presses him against the wall and kisses him breathless.  
  
They're grinning and giggling as they fumble with their clothes, never making it past the bedroom door before they're naked and tugging at each other's cocks in the middle of the hallway.  
  
Louis sinks to his knees to take him into his mouth and Harry's head thuds against the wall when he groans.  
  
His hips are bucking against Louis' insistent mouth and deft fingers, a constant flow of groans and curses falling from his lips, when a sharp knock sounds against the front door.  
  
Louis leans back on his heels, frowning as he licks his lips, spit slicked hands resting on Harry's quivering thighs. Harry's eyes are wide when he looks up to meet them, chest heaving and a tremble in his hands when he lays them atop Louis' as if seeking reassurance.  
  
Another series of knocks rattles the door, the pounding so loud that Harry flinches and Louis rises to his feet, dread filling his veins like lead. They stare at each other, Louis' hands squeezing Harry's shoulders to relieve his silent panic.  
  
"Open the goddamn door before I break it."  
  
Harry's eyes squeeze shut and Louis' heart crumbles at the muffled but unmistakable voice.  
  
Louis silently urges him to get dressed while he hastily pulls his jeans back on. He tries not to dwell on Harry's pale face and shaking hands.  
  
A step takes him to the door. He turns the lock to face the inevitable and the rest is a blur.  
  
A fist colliding with the side of his face, knocking him backwards. Harry's desperate pleas and tears staining his cheeks. Yelling and screaming and threats of calling the police. Harry's breaths getting stuck in his throat until he's wheezing, Des yanking him out by his hair.  
  
"Louis," Harry chokes out, hooking his fingers around the door frame.  
  
Louis doesn't say anything. He doesn't move, doesn't meet his eyes.  
  
He lets him get dragged away.  
  
***  
  
When Des returns to collect Harry's stuff, Louis is still sitting in the hallway, staring at the floor. They don't acknowledge each other.  
  
Louis is dimly aware of him moving through the flat, shuffling through their stuff. After a while, he leaves with a suitcase, having wiped away all traces of Harry from Louis' flat.  
  
Louis feels like he's floating in the silence. His limbs don't feel like they belong to him. Nothing does. He's not sure he exists at all.  
  
The only thought in his mind, though, is that all has returned to how it's supposed to be.  
  
***  
  


 

 

 

 

IV.  
_equilibrium, n. - a stable state characterized by the cancellation of all forces by equal opposing forces_

 

  
  
"I've been thinking about Harry." He tugs the sleeves of his sweater over his wrists as he lets the admission slip from his lips.  
  
His eyes wander over the room in lieu of meeting Eleanor's steady gaze. He's tempted to change the subject when they land on the yellow Furla bag slung over the back of her desk chair. So that's where his hard earned money ends up, he wants to tease, but he bites his tongue. He knows the urge sprouts from his aversion to opening up and no good ever comes from it.  
  
"What about him?" she asks, already scribbling a note in the block resting on her thighs. Her nails are painted yellow as well, two silver rings glinting on her fingers.  
  
The office is bathed in light, the sky outside uncharacteristically clear. Sun beams through the glass encompassing most of the wall to the left of the sofa Louis' sitting on. The leather is soft under his weight though he feels a bit like he might slide off if he squirms.  
  
He kicks off his sneakers so he can draw his bare feet up and wrap his arms around his knees.  
  
"I wonder how he's doing. If I've ruined his life." His voice is flat, sounds too cold in his ears. He lets the thought go and observes the curls El's sporting today. He wonders how early she has to get up in order to look so put together and make it to work on time.  
  
Her expression never flickers and it's barely a moment before she hits him with another question. "Why do you think that might be the case?" The dark hair contrasts with her pale drawn face. Her eyes are dark, too, though accentuated only with mascara.  
  
He has to let himself think for a moment before replying. "I can't imagine that things were alright when he came back home. His father quite literally dragged him away."  
  
"You have no influence over the way he's treated at home."  
  
"I know, but if it weren't for me-"  
  
"What did we say about stressing over things we can't change?"  
  
He falls silent, focuses on the fuzzy carpet that stretches out between them. It's dark brown speckled with white. He thinks Bruce would enjoy chewing on it.  
  
"Would you like to talk to him?" she asks.  
  
"I think so."  
  
"To relieve yourself of the guilt you feel or for some other reason?"  
  
His feet are a bit cold, the air conditioning continuously blasting above them. He curls his toes.  
  
"I think I might be ready to have him back in my life. If that's what he wants as well."  
  
He hears the scratch of her pen against paper as he turns to look out the window again. There still isn't a single cloud in sight. He should take Bruce for a walk when he gets back home.  
  
"Does that feel like the first step toward reaching out to your family?"  
  
His heartbeat increases. He keeps looking at the wide expanse of blue as he counts to ten in his head, the fingers of his left hand twitching one by one for each odd number, the right fingers doing the same for evens.  
  
"I suppose it does." He wishes he had Bruce with him today, but he had no time to stop by home to collect him after his lectures.  
  
"Is there a reason it would be easier to approach him first rather than your mother or sisters?"  
  
"He already knows." He hears his phone buzz in his backpack. "He didn't judge me the first time around. I don't think he would now."  
  
"And you think your family might?"  
  
"I have no idea how they might react if I told them everything. Mark is still a part of their lives." A headache is beginning to form between his eyes. "Maybe Harry would rather not talk to me, though. I don't want to upset him."  
  
"I think it's fair to give him a choice. To let him know you'd like to talk and let him decide if he wants to take you up on the offer or not."  
  
His head pounds harder. He feels exhausted all of a sudden, eyes stinging like he hasn't slept last night.  
  
"Alright," he says, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. "Is the hour up?"  
  
She pushes the sleeve of her blazer up, reavealing a sparkling silver watch. "Not yet," she concludes after glancing at it, "but we can finish now if you feel like we've pushed you enough for today."  
  
He hums, taking a moment to brush his fringe out of his eyes and tousle it a bit with his fingers. "Okay then." He rises to his feet, steps into his shoes and stretches with a yawn. "Same time next week?"  
  
"Of course." She smiles up at him, for the first time today. "Take care until then."  
  
"You, too," he grins and bends to retrieve his backpack off the floor. He slings it over his shoulder and gives El a small wave before walking out.  
  
He checks his phone during the elevator ride. The text is from Liam, informing him that he's waiting outside.  
  
Bruce is on him the second he steps out of the building, jumping at him excitedly and licking all over his palms.  
  
"Hey there, buddy. I missed you." He crouches to ruffle his fur, smiling wider when the dog barks as if he's saying hi back. His tongue hangs from his open mouth curved upward like he's grinning.  
  
"How did it go?" Liam asks as he hands Louis the leash.  
  
"Not bad." They head toward the park, the leash strung tight as Bruce attempts to run ahead. "I told her I'm thinking about contacting Harry."  
  
He can almost feel the way Liam frowns beside him.  
  
"Is that a good idea?"  
  
They wait at a traffic light as cars zoom past. The heat makes Louis' sweater cling to his skin.  
  
"I mean," Liam starts to backtrack a little. "Haven't you been doing better since he left?"  
  
He's tall and broad-shouldered, strong in a way that makes it amusing when he shrinks under Louis' stare, like he does now when Louis looks up at him.  
  
"You worry too much." It isn't until they've reached the park that Louis gives him a proper answer. "It was good for me to find a way to be okay without depending on him, yeah. But if it weren't for him, I never would have attempted to get better in the first place."  
  
"I know," he relents, watching as Louis unclips the leash and lets Bruce sprint away to play with other dogs. "I just don't want you to get hurt."  
  
"I promise I'll be careful, mom." He gives him a shit-eating grin before finding his way to an empty bench in the shade. The grass is pliant beneath his feet, the colours vibrant under the sun. He takes a seat and pulls a textbook out of his backpack. "Now are we going to get some studying done or what?"  
  
***  
  
"Good morning," Louis greets with a smile when the first costumer of the day enters the café. The girl is half-asleep as she slumps in a high chair at the bar in front of him. "Let me guess, coffee?"  
  
"Black, please," she confirms without lifting her bleary eyes.  
  
"Coming right up." He feels his phone buzz in his pocket as he starts the coffee machine. The rain patters softly against the windows.  
  
"There you go, love." He hands her the cup and gathers the coins she drops on the counter.  
  
He hops onto a stool and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his apron, ankles crossed as he swings them back and forth.  
  
' _She said yes!!!!'_ the message from Liam reads, followed by ' _we're going out tonight_ '.  
  
' _Told you so_ ,' he types back, ' _have fun ;)'_.  
  
He drops the phone in his lap and surveys the room, all the tables empty. He hopes the place will fill up soon enough. He dislikes the slow days. Having too much time to think is always dangerous and he very much prefers keeping busy all day. Sore legs and a stiff back are a small price to pay for a clear mind.  
  
He holds his phone again and scrolls through the contact list. He comes across Nick's name soon enough.  
  
' _Hi, quick question, can you get me Harry's number?'_ he types and taps send before he can chicken out.  
  
The reply comes through a couple of hours later. ' _Nice to know you're alive asshole_ ,' it says, followed by the number he's asked for.  
  
His stomach stirs with nerves as he stares at the series of digits. He resolves to call tomorrow.  
  
***  
  
He doesn't call when the next day turns out to be one of the bad ones. He knows from the moment he opens his eyes feeling that inexplicable weight pressing on his chest and making it hard to move or breathe.  
  
Liam looks up from his phone when he walks into the kitchen and his face drops immediately. He set his phone aside, stands up and approaches him to give him a hug, but Louis extricates himself from his hold after a second, averse to being touched at the moment. He grimaces apologetically and goes to curl up on the small couch by the window.  
  
Bruce releases the plush toy he was chewing and hops into his lap, nudging his hand with his snout until he starts threading his fingers through his curly fur. He tries to keep his breaths measured.  
  
"We could skip the lecture today," Liam suggests. He's resumed his seat at the table and he takes a sip of tea before continuing. "We don't pay attention to half of what Peters drones about anyway."  
  
"Okay." His head hurts again. He lets it fall back against the cushions.  
  
"I'll make you some tea." Liam's on his feet without waiting for a reply. He always fusses when Louis is down.  
  
It's something to focus on at least. Louis watches his every move as he opens the cupboard to retrieve Louis' Captain America cup that was actually a Christmas present from Liam himself. He keeps trying to contaminate him with his Marvel obsession. He plucks a teabag from the box that's already on the counter and Louis can't tell which one it is. There's still leftover boiled water, it seems. He picks up the teapot and fills the cup, leaving it by the sink for the time being.  
  
"How about an Iron Man movie to cheer you up?" he asks when he turns around.  
  
A tired smile tugs at Louis' lips. "Alright."  
  
***  
  
His chest aches when he hears Harry stammer out a confused hello.  
  
"Hi, uh... it's Louis."  
  
There's a crash followed by a muffled curse. He cringes. "Dropped something, didn't you?"  
  
"A glass of water. Doesn't matter," he rushes out. "Lou." His name is but a breath falling from Harry's lips. "Oh my god."  
  
"I was hoping we could talk. If you want. If you'd rather not, that's completely fine. Or if you need some time or-"  
  
"Louis, Louis, please," he cuts him off. A short breathy laugh escapes him. "It's alright."  
  
"Okay," Louis sighs, the tension in his muscles deflating.  
  
"I'm actually in London," Harry continues and Louis' heart positively palpitates. "We can meet up if you'd like."  
  
"Y-yeah. Okay. Yeah, I'd like that."  
  
***  
  
Louis' got Bruce in his lap as he waits for Harry to arrive. The tea he's ordered isn't there yet, either, and he's glad he has something, or rather someone, to keep his hands busy.  
  
The dog is warm, his fur soft under Louis' palms. He's oddly still today, almost asleep where he's curled up in Louis' arms, as if sensing what he needs.  
  
The lights are dimmed in the café, the room filled with quiet murmuring of its visitors and the slow humming of a piano sounding from the speakers in each corner. Louis' picked a table in a separate booth to ensure them privacy. The sofa he's perched on is purple and comfortable.  
  
The bells chime, signaling the arrival of new customers. Louis' gut tells him this is it.  
  
He looks up and there he is. Harry. He's different, yet still the same, hair longer and more straight, his frame thinner and shoulders broader. The buttons of his black shirt are halfway undone, his white jeans as tight as they can be.  
  
He runs a hand through his thick hair as he scans the room until he spots Louis.  
  
It's like a strike of lightning when their eyes meet, a current piercing through him, a shock to his system. He never takes his eyes off him as Harry makes his way over, his strides confident, but his chest heaving visibly with the shuddering breaths he takes.  
  
"Hi," the boy manages before flopping into the seat across from Louis like his knees have given out. His deep voice is like a hook sinking into Louis' flesh.  
  
"Harry," he breathes in response, the word sounding faint in his ears.  
  
Bruce jumps down from Louis' lap and rounds the table before lifting on his back legs and setting his paws on Harry's knees, sniffing him curiously.  
  
"Hi there," Harry coos, reaching out to pet the top of his head. "Is he yours?"  
  
"Yeah. His name is Bruce."  
  
"He's cute. Very friendly."  
  
"A nuisance." Louis wrinkles his nose, but the fond twitch of his lips gives him away. "Terribly restless for a service dog."  
  
That makes Harry look up. "Service dog?" he inquires, the confusion evident in the crease between his brows.  
  
A waitress approaches them before Louis can reply. She sets Louis' mug on the table and takes Harry's order before walking away, her shoes clicking against the tiled floor.  
  
"He's trained for helping with depression and anxiety. My therapist suggested it," Louis explains as he tears open a packet of honey and pours it into the steaming mug.  
  
Harry's eyebrows arch. "I've never heard of something like that." He glances down at Bruce with wonder as the dog returns to Louis and resumes his position in his lap. "So you go to therapy?"  
  
"I do." He stirs his tea in slow circles, his left hand slipping under the desk to hold onto Bruce's paw. "It took a while before I found the right person, but now that I see Eleanor once a week, it's pretty helpful."  
  
"That's great, Lou," Harry gushes, eyes shining with undisguised joy. "I'm really happy for you." His eyes are an even more vibrant green than Louis remembers. They draw him in like the tide.  
  
"Thank you," he smiles earnestly. "How have you been? How are things back home?"  
  
"Things are great. The twins have turned one, both happy and healthy."  
  
"Girls again?" Louis' eyes sting, his throat constringing at the thought of the siblings he's never met.  
  
"A boy and a girl," Harry corrects with a fond smile. He fetches his phone from the pocket of his jeans. "Let me show you a pic."  
  
He scrolls through his gallery for a moment before turning the screen toward Louis' face. The picture shows two babies in matching polka dots outfits, passed out in the middle of a king-sized bed.  
  
Louis takes the phone in his trembling hands. He can't help zooming in on their chubby pink cheeks, their socked feet, the girl's fist resting atop the boy's stomach. He can't believe he has a brother.  
  
"Their names are Doris and Ernest," Harry supplies, his voice growing thick with emotion. "I miss them a lot, to be honest. Can't wait to hold them again."  
  
"I hope I get to meet them someday." Louis brushes the tip of his finger over the screen as if stroking Doris' forehead.  
  
"You will. Whenever you wish."  
  
He's missing out on so much. Their first steps and their first words. "I'm not ready yet," he admits quietly, "but I'm working on it."  
  
He hands the phone back to Harry who takes the chance to squeeze his hand in a comforting gesture.  
  
"I'll send you a bunch of pics if you want."  
  
Louis gives him a grateful smile. "That would be nice. Thank you."  
  
The waitress comes back to lay Harry's drink on the table. He thanks her quietly and Louis waits till she's gone to speak again.  
  
"Are you here for uni?"  
  
Harry nods. "I'm studying Law. It's going pretty well so far. Niall is my roommate. He snores like a motor saw, but he keeps me from stressing over exams too much, so it all works out."  
  
"That's great. I'm back at uni, too."  
  
"Really?" His eyes widen and so does his grin. "Are you studying for a drama teacher again?"  
  
"Yeah. I also work at a café. It keeps me busy and pays well enough to cover my part of the rent. I've moved into a smaller flat. My roommate's name is Liam. He's also my best friend."  
  
"That's awesome. I'm glad you're doing so well."  
  
"What about you, though?" Louis asks again. "How have you been? Honestly."  
  
Harry's eyes grow distant and he chews on his lips as he ponders how to answer. "That day was living hell, you know that. Once we were back home, though... I think the whole thing made Dad realize that he hadn't been treating me right. And he's spent every day since then making sure I never again felt like I wasn't a part of the family."  
  
Louis feels weak with relief.  
  
"I've missed you so much, though," Harry continues. "It felt like I was transported into a different reality, one where you didn't exist. I didn't dare even try to reach you for fear of jeopardising the stability I finally had at home. So I've kept myself busy studying and tried not to think about you. But I always worried, somewhere in the back of my mind. I'm so happy to see you're doing well."  
  
"Me, too, love. Me, too." Louis squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb over his tattoo. "I'm so glad you and your dad worked things out."  
  
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping on their warm drinks and eyeing each other in wonder.  
  
"I can't quite believe you're here," Harry tells him.  
  
"I know," Louis huffs out a laugh. "Got any singing gigs coming up?" he remembers to ask.  
  
He grimaces. "I... I've kind of neglected that hobby, to be honest."  
  
Louis frowns. "Why?"  
  
He sighs. "You know, I have a notebook full of songs I've written, and they're all about you." Louis' heart clenches. "I needed some distance from that."  
  
"You're so talented, though. You should try to get back to it when you're ready. I know you want to."  
  
"I will," he nods, his lips curving into a smile again. "I think I might now."  
  
He leans over then and pulls Louis into a hug, Bruce sliding off his lap with an undignified yelp. He must feel the tension in Louis' shoulders, but it soon dissipates and Louis hugs him back like he'll never let go.  
  
  


 

 

  
_The End_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated.  
> If there's anything at all you'd like to talk about, here's my [tumblr](http://daristhebrodar.tumblr.com/).


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